Physical Therapy
by Perspex13
Summary: "It doesn't matter, though, does it? The fact is I'm no closer to figuring out who's hurting Castle or why he's allowing it." Beckett notices some disturbing changes in her partner after her return to the 12th. An AU set early in Season 4 after Rise.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Physical Therapy

Rating: T

Timeline: Early Season 4

Summary: "It doesn't matter, though, does it? The fact is I'm no closer to figuring out who's hurting Castle or why he's allowing it." Beckett notices some disturbing changes in her partner after her return to the 12th. Set early in Season 4.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: After getting stuck in Season 3 for several stories, I'm now thinking about Beckett's return to the precinct after her summer of recuperation. This is the first of several ideas for this timeframe and will differ substantially in tone from the next one I'm considering. This is AU after Rise.

* * *

"… And your new captain… how are things going with her?" Dr. Burke asks, rounding toward the end of today's session.

"Fine," Beckett manages to reply, swallowing the urge to say ' _Well, she hasn't betrayed me, killed one of my parents, or been gunned down yet_.' The restraint is borne from years of working with Castle – one more thing for which she owes him, she thinks with a smile. "Strict," she offers, returning to Dr. Burke's question, "but she seems capable."

Misunderstanding the reason for her smile, the therapist thinks that Beckett's pleased with how her relationship with the new captain is progressing. No need to disabuse him of that notion, she tells herself, since that will just bring up how icy the Homicide department is these days after Gates' efforts to kick Castle out were thwarted.

"It sounds as if you're making good strides in returning to your professional life," Dr. Burke summarizes. "I'll confess that I'm impressed with your efforts. It's still early and there will still be bad days," he reminds her, trying to make sure she doesn't abandon her therapy while she still clearly benefits from assistance, "but we'll endeavor to make them more and more infrequent."

"No argument here," Beckett huffs, still not entirely comfortable in her own, scarred skin or with the notion of more therapy.

"Good," Dr. Burke prompts, turning to his last, loaded question. "But before we end our session, perhaps you'd like to tell me why you scheduled today's appointment?"

Looking surprised, Beckett grows defensive. "We've talked about this," she answers plaintively, her crossed arms and stooped shoulders telling her therapist far more than her words. "I want to be better," she nearly sighs, annoyed at having to confess her weakness again. "Stronger."

"I apologize," Dr. Burke answers quickly, speaking in his smooth cadence that invites calm. "I didn't speak clearly and I don't want to put you on edge or retread areas we've already discussed," he soothes, showing that he's aware of his faux pas. "What I meant to ask is why you're here today in particular? We've adhered to regularly scheduled meetings, even with the unpredictability of your job. But you added this session yesterday, and it seems like there's something you wanted to address today but we keep sheering away from it every time we get too close."

Beckett nods, squeezing her arms tighter until she realizes that she's confirming his assessment with her body language. Forcing herself to lower her arms, she takes a deep breath and holds it for several seconds before letting it out with a sigh, hoping to lose some of her tension at the same time.

"You're right," she admits. "There's something I wanted to talk about today," she starts to explain, though each word seems to make her increasingly wary, so that Dr. Burke wonders if she'll have the strength of will to finish the thought. He again opens his expression to her, trying to convey nonverbally that he's willing to address her question but will not press if it's not forthcoming.

Beckett recognizes the expression and it invigorates her – not because of his openness, but because she doesn't want him to accept her weakness. Galvanized, she presses on. "I'd like a recommendation from you," she says, the topic bold even if her tone is not. "For another therapist."

Dr. Burke accepts this statement with a nod, thinking quickly. "Of course. I have several colleagues in whom I place my full confidence and trust. I can provide several options and, with your permission, will speak with them before your first session."

Beckett looks confused, then embarrassed. In her haste to pursue this topic, it seems she's made a critical misstep. "Not for me," she clarifies quickly. "I'm… we're… I think this is helping me," she finally manages to say while gesturing vaguely around his office, blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Please, don't be embarrassed," Dr. Burke says easily. "These sessions only really work, as I think you discovered after securing your clearance to return to duty, when there is a good rapport. A good therapist won't be offended if a patient seeks someone with whom they have a better connection," he explains generally before turning to her specific situation.

"But I will confess," he says, risking a more personal comment, "that I'm glad to hear you have some confidence in our sessions. I, too, am optimistic about your development." Shifting to her request while Beckett fights her renewed blush, Dr. Burke asks the obvious question. "Can you tell me for whom you'd like a recommendation? I trust your father is well," he adds, hoping that his patient is not looking for an addiction counselor.

"Dad's fine," she answers quickly. "Better than fine, actually. I think you were right," she continues, then sighs when her therapist's eyebrows rise. "Fine. It's not that you were right," she corrects herself with a roll of her eyes. "A theory occurred to me after one of our talks and seems to be right – Dad's feeling better about himself after being able to help me this summer. After not being around to help me after mom died," she continues with a hitch in her words, "he got a second chance to be there for me."

Dr. Burke nods, accepting these words and letting them settle while Beckett builds her courage to return to the topic at hand.

"It's Castle," she confesses a few long moments later. "I'm worried about him. He seems fine," she says as she shrugs, "but something's wrong."

"How so?" Dr. Burke asks. "Don't forget that what happened in the cemetery was terrible for him, too, though in a different way."

"I know," Beckett answers, fighting the urge to add that her silence over the summer might've affected him, too. "He's putting on an act, but his mask slips sometimes. It did the other day," she adds, "and he just looked _so_ angry."

"You said he was angry, after you spoke with him," Dr. Burke reminds her, though she's already nodding in agreement. "And didn't he even say that rejoining you at the precinct didn't mean he wasn't still mad?"

"He did say that," she admits, still surprised she shared that discussion with her therapist. "But I think this is different."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" he suggests reasonably. "Perhaps that will make things more clear."

* * *

"I knew it was too good to last," Perlmutter sighs when Castle steps into the apartment behind his partner, already craning his neck to take in the scene. "Things were so peaceful and professional while you were gone."

"I missed you, too, Mr. Filch," Castle replies offhandedly, still inspecting the apartment even though Beckett and her team are clustered around the body sprawled on the floor. It doesn't require an ME to explain that the victim suffered a massive blow to the head, not with the puddle of congealing blood or the obvious dent in the victim's skull.

Rather than inspect the body or listen to Perlmutter drone on, Castle drifts around the room while trying to get a sense for the inhabitant. Perlmutter seems annoyed that he doesn't have the full attention of the class, but Beckett prompts his initial conclusions about cause and time of death with an inpatient get-on-with-it gesture.

"Hey, Beckett," Castle calls out just as Perlmutter finishes his report. Apparently irritated that his soliloquy didn't enrapture the detectives or their sidekick, the ME huffs and goes about collecting his equipment. Beckett, meanwhile, pads over to Castle, who's pointing to a picture.

His thinking is readily apparent. The picture was taken here in this room, a selfie of the victim and a female friend, both smiling wide. Based on the victim's appearance in the picture it was taken recently, though it's a little difficult to tell after the way in which he was killed.

"Espo – what'd the canvas turn up?" she asks, motioning him over.

"Nothin' popped," he answers with a shrug as he bends to look at the photo.

"See that?" she asks, pointing at the upright antique desk in the background of the photo, then to the bare section of the room where it should be. "It'd be awfully hard to take that very far. But if you lived nearby…"

"On it," Esposito answers quickly, already looking at where the desk had rested as if hoping to see drag marks. "Ryan, Castle, come on. There aren't many places on this floor, we can knock it out quickly."

Castle's so surprised by his inclusion that he's smiling about doing mundane legwork. Entering the hallway, the three set off away from the elevator, each stopping in front of a different door.

"May I?" Castle asks in glee, prompting a sigh from Esposito, who pinches the bridge of his nose to show his thoughts on this request.

"Fine," the detective groans. "Just don't get used to it."

"NYPD!" Castle barks happily after knocking on the door. Esposito's still shaking his head while Ryan gives Castle a thumbs up before stretching to knock on a different door.

But before Ryan can knock, the door bursts open and a young man with greasy black hair bolts out of the apartment, sending Ryan into the wall and tumbling down. Espo's still looking up when he gets hit with a stiff-arm that knocks him off-balance. Their runner apparently played football, as both moves were nearly textbook. This doesn't bode well for Castle, who's standing in the middle of the hallway as the last obstacle between the runner and the stairwell.

"Move!" Espo yells to Castle, who seems to misunderstand the instruction. Rather than trying to get out of the way or trip the runner, Castle stands his ground, only bending his knees to absorb the impact from the fleeing suspect. They collide, going down in a tangle of grunts with limbs akimbo. Somehow, in all the tumult, Castle ends up on top of the prone suspect with his knees pinning the runner's arms, one hand on his neck, the other drawn back in a fist, and face looking murderous.

* * *

"And that's how I found him," Beckett finishes relaying the story. "I've never seen him like that. Well, only one other time," she hedges, prompting Dr. Burke's eyebrows to rise. "Ryan and Esposito were captured last year, held hostage to lure me into a trap. It almost worked, but Castle beat him senseless before he could pull the trigger."

Dr. Burke hides his surprise at this revelation behind another nod. "But you were not in danger this time?" he asks.

"No," Beckett agrees. "I was still back in the apartment. He might've been worried that Ryan or Espo got hurt," she thinks aloud, though her expression makes it clear that this doesn't seem like the right explanation, "but I wasn't even in the hallway."

"Did he strike the man?" Dr. Burke asks, looking more comfortable when Beckett answers in the negative.

"No," she answers readily. "Ryan got there before I did. Castle just blinked, dropped his hands, and stood off to the side. Like nothing happened."

"Perhaps, to him, nothing did," Dr. Burke suggests. "This sounds like an unusual situation, but not unheard of. Might it be that your current efforts to reintegrate into your role as a detective have sensitized you to the inherent danger you and your team face on a regular basis?"

"Maybe," Beckett allows. This doesn't feel quite right, but perhaps she had grown callous to the everyday dangers of the job, including the dangers shared by her untrained shadow. "I'm just worried that something's wrong with him," she confesses in a low voice, returning to what's really been bothering her. "If something's bothering him, he wouldn't talk to me about it," her tone growing regretful. "Not if he thinks it would be a burden to me."

Her last lines seem to signal the end of Beckett's willingness to talk. Dr. Burke watches as she hunches further, probably ruminating on how her shooting, and perhaps how she handled her recovery, affected others around her.

"Here are the cards for two contacts," the therapist offers gently, coaxing Beckett to reengage. "Both are excellent. Thomas is more of the benevolent grandfather model – gray hair, gray beard, seemingly as many grandkids as patients, and a laugh that rattles the windows," he offers, trying to lighten Beckett's demeanor but provoking no reaction.

"Charlotte would be more of a peer to Mr. Castle. She'll push a little harder and won't let him play with words – she was an attorney before turning to our profession. From what you've told me, Mr. Castle might react better if speaking with an intelligent woman." Again, no immediate response.

"Thanks," Beckett replies, reaching out to accept both cards without commenting on either recommendation. She still seems a little despondent, Dr. Burke thinks, but no more so than he's come to expect from his taciturn patient.

"A bit of advice?" he offers, taking one last shot at engaging her while also addressing a flaw in her plan. "You might consider how to broach the subject with him. As you've probably guessed…"

"As soon as I suggest a counselor," Beckett interjects dejectedly, "he'll ask if I'm seeing one myself."

* * *

A/N: Big thanks to my friend GeekMom who gave these first two chapters a read and encouraged me to go ahead. She also had a raft of questions for me, so we'll see if the latter chapters provide answers.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Good morning, Kate," Dr. Burke asks as soon as she settles into her seat.

"Good morning," Beckett replies, happy to see her therapist but wringing her hands already. "Thank you for clearing time on your schedule to see me."

"Certainly," he replies kindly, hiding his shock that Detective Beckett had reached out directly. "I'm glad you called. Would you like something to drink?" he offers, surprised that she hadn't walked in with her ubiquitous coffee cup.

"No, thank you," she replies with a rueful chuckle. Unclasping her hands and extending one in front of her, she tries to hold it still but the shaking is unmistakable. "I think I've already overdone it on caffeine this morning. Didn't sleep well," she explains with a shrug.

"I'm sorry to say that dark nights and uncomfortable dreams are not unusual after traumatic events and periods of high stress," he reminds her, harkening back to their earlier discussions. "But I still oppose the notion of sleep aids or medications to…"

"No," Beckett interjects quickly. "I agree. I don't want any drugs. Not again," she vows, her stomach clenching at the thought of returning to the endless collection of colored pills and tablets she had to choke down after her surgeries.

"I'm glad to hear that," Dr. Burke replies, refusing to hide his satisfaction at her response. Far too many of his colleagues are far too willing to address problems, real or imagined, with a prescription pad rather than a thoughtful ear or question. "Perhaps, then, it was the substance of your dreams that was disconcerting?"

"It's Castle," she answers, prompting Dr. Burke's feeling of satisfaction to evaporate on the spot. The Detective is more than enough of a therapeutic challenge, but importing concerns from her partner is starting to challenge his usual methods. He's not a couples' counselor, but he's starting to wonder if it's possible to help Beckett without also helping her partner.

"Did he not react well to your suggestion of a counselor?" Dr. Burke asks, suspecting the answer he shortly receives.

"I…," Beckett trails off, looking like a chastened school-girl. "I haven't been able to talk to him about it yet," she admits, flushing at the thought of her failure. "He's just seemed better these last few weeks so I didn't think…," she trails off, looking down.

After several long moments of silence, she manages an unprovoked confession. "I was too scared to say anything," she admits in a voice Dr. Burke can barely hear. "And now… now something's very wrong."

* * *

"Sir, we need backup. Fast," Beckett says urgently into her phone.

" _What's wrong_?" Gates replies quickly, the cessation of paper-shuffling noises in the background convincing Beckett that she has her boss' attention.

"Things are getting ugly here," Beckett answers. "The victim is Thomas Washington, son of…"

" _Henry Washington, the preacher_ ," Gates completes the sentence. " _Dammit, the last thing we need is a race riot. Is that what's going on_?"

"There're already several factions in the group of onlookers, and tempers are getting heated. The attorney for the white supremacist group just showed up and he's already shouting about free speech and rights of assembly," Beckett scorns.

" _And Washington_?" Gates asks, though with the phone partially muffled as she's also talking to someone in her office, probably relaying orders already.

"He's not here yet," Beckett answers, hoping that the father of a murdered son has some support. "But some of his people are and they're understandably furious."

" _Tactical situation_?"

"Bad," Beckett admits, casting another look around. "We're bottled-up in a dead-end alley. The scene's almost processed, so we should be done here soon. But if they rush us, we'll either have to go through them to get out or fall back into the ME's van."

" _The van_ ," Gates replies immediately. " _I don't want to see any altercations with the public up on YouTube_ ," she continues with a shudder. " _I've got five cars rolling, should be there in about ten minutes_."

"Thank you, sir," Beckett answers, her tone of voice making her gratitude clear.

" _Detective_ ," Gates adds, growing somber. " _How did Thomas die_?"

"He was beaten to death," Beckett answers in a low tone. "Looks like multiple assailants. There are defensive wounds," she continues, pausing slightly out of respect and revulsion. "He was still alive when he went down. But they didn't stop. Lanie says there are stomping wounds. The ones to the head are the likely COD, but his chest and pelvis were also targeted. And…," Beckett starts to add before cutting herself off.

" _And_?" Gates prompts, wanting the full story.

"And they disrespected his body afterward," she croaks out, heart breaking. "They didn't stop the beating for a long while," Beckett nearly falters in her recitation, "and they spit on him before they ran."

" _Dear God in Heaven_ ," Gates murmurs, devoutly enough that Beckett finds herself making the sign of the cross, an impulse she hasn't felt in many years. " _That poor, poor boy_."

Beckett breaks the long moments of uncharacteristic silence with some optimism. "We'll finish here soon and get out without enflaming any tensions," she promises. "Then we'll dive in. I'm sure…"

" _The crowd_ ," Gates interrupts, sounding almost aggressive in her desire to wrap this up. " _Take video. I want to know who's there. If Washington isn't there yet, it's odd that there are so many bystanders there already. Some of the bastards who beat that poor boy might be the ones causing trouble in the crowd_."

"Already taken care of," Beckett answers, unsurprised and unoffended by Gates' sudden investment in this case. "Castle said the same thing before the attorney showed up. He shot video while the boys and I inspected the body and got ME Parish's initial findings.

" _Where is he now_?" Gates asks. " _We need that phone secured_."

"He's holding the line next to LT," Beckett answers, marveling again at the simple image the two men present. Black and white, standing together to guard the mouth of the alley, LT as the strong, silent denizen of peace and Castle there to try to keep things calm with quiet good humor.

" _Is that wise_?" Gates asks, causing Beckett to frown at another sign of Gates' lack of faith.

"Yes, it is," she replies, perhaps a little sharply. "He's a civilian," she says to start her explanation, "so he's unlikely to provoke as much attention or photo-op potential as others. He's relatively calm, won't lose his temper," not if it might endanger me, she thinks but does not say, "and, in the worst-case situation, he knows how to take a punch."

" _That's good to know_ ," Gates answers. Her inflection makes Beckett think the captain was addressing only the last comment about Castle getting hit, not the whole of her defense, but she'll take it.

"I'd better go – we need to wrap up here and hold the line until backup arrives," Beckett interjects, wanting to get off the phone. "I think I can hear sirens, so we should get some relief soon."

" _Go_ ," Gates answers directly. " _Secure that phone, finish processing the scene, and make a quiet departure. I'm counting on you, Detective_."

"Yes, sir," Beckett replies, both annoyed and flattered by receiving some authority from Gates. Perhaps she's finally making some inroads with her new boss. With a small smile, she disconnects the phone and slips it into her pocket.

Her smile falls from her face as she looks back to the crowd, which is growing increasingly unruly. Castle's presence next to LT has attracted the ire of the supremacist faction, who've positioned themselves directly in front of them to hurl insults. Lifting her phone again, she films the scene, wanting to make sure they've got footage of the most disorderly participants.

With her phone raised, Beckett captures the scene as two of the supremacists rear back before lurching toward Castle, their spittle caught on camera before both launches land on Castle's shirt.

This is, technically, a form of assault and LT's moving toward the meager yellow-taped cordon to arrest both men even before Beckett lowers her phone. But before she can warn him off, Castle catches LT's arm and shakes his head, discouraging action lest if prove catalytic to this volatile crowd. To ease tensions, Castle lets go of LT's arm and instead pats him on the shoulder, showing no reaction to what's happened to him other than a gentle smile of forbearance.

Thrilled to see that he's handing this situation so well despite her latent concerns about any repressed anger, Beckett quickly moves to her partner's side. "Nice work – thanks for keeping this low-key," she says quietly as she nods toward the ME's van. "Now, come on. We need you over here."

With a curious look, Castle follows Beckett toward the ME's van. Any concern about leaving LT undefended seems to be assuaged by the increasing volume of the approaching squad cars. Esposito, noticing their movement, taps Ryan on the shoulder and starts toward LT to help hold the line.

"Now, don't get excited," Beckett starts as they move around to the back of the van, "but I need you to take off your shirt."

"What?!" Beckett hears in stereo, from Castle next to her and Lanie behind her.

"Two of our protestors over there just volunteered DNA samples," Beckett explains, gesturing toward the wet spots on Castle's shirt. "You can match them against what was left on the body, right?"

Looking solemn, Lanie nods. But Castle looks reluctant, especially for someone who's been so flirtatious for years. Beckett would've guessed that her partner would need little provocation to shed his clothes. "What's the matter, Castle," she asks, trying to tease him into cheering up, "do you need a police horse to set the mood?"

"Come on, Castle," the ME cajoles when Beckett's line doesn't prompt him into motion, "I need it while it's still wet," she explains with a scrunched nose, pointing at him with two fingers that waggle upwards to direct the removal of his shirt.

Oddly, having both women focused on him makes him even more disinclined to disrobe. Craning his neck, he's trying to come up with some alternative when Beckett and Lanie look at each other in confusion.

"What's the matter, writer boy? Some lovely lady use your back as a scratching post?" Lanie teases. "Or do you have a tattoo from your youth that might prove a little embarrassing?"

When he doesn't answer, Beckett jumps in a little too abruptly, perhaps in reaction to Lanie's first comment. "Castle, it's nothing we haven't seen before. Besides, you still have your sports coat to wear afterwards. Let's go."

Sighing and letting his head fall, Castle shrugs out of his coat and hands it to his partner. "Not a word about this to _anybody_ ," he says in a low, fierce tone as he slowly begins unbuttoning his shirt, "including _me_."

Beckett turns to offer Castle some modicum of privacy, though she'd prefer otherwise. Lanie's soft gasp and heartbroken " _Oh, Castle_ ," provides more than enough excuse to turn back.

Castle's folding his shirt, ignoring Lanie's comments. With his back to her, Beckett gets her chance to inspect her partner. It's not the wide shoulders, slimmer-than-expected waist, or slope of his lower back that catches her attention, but the radiant and overlapping pattern of bruises. It looks easier to find the spots that are unblemished than those that are, and the mottled pattern makes it clear that old bruises haven't healed before new ones blossomed atop.

Handing his folded shirt to an uncharacteristically quiet Lanie, Castle turns to collect his jacket. In doing so, he confirms that the bruises aren't limited to his back. Nor are they likely limited to his torso, if the bruising around his belt-line is a fair indication.

She's opening her mouth to ask what happened when he lifts a hand with finger raised. "Not a word," he reminds Beckett as he takes his jacket and shrugs it on before moving off to watch the recently-arrived backup clear a path for their departure.

* * *

Dr. Burke sits quietly, trying to make sense of this development and its effect on his patient. "Do you suspect self-harm?" he asks quietly.

"No," Beckett answers quickly, "couldn't be. Too many of the areas would be awkward to reach. No," she says with a sigh, "someone else did that to him. Is doing that to him," she corrects, remembering again how some of the bruises were still blossoming.

"But he's said nothing?" Dr. Burke asks, though he suspects the answer.

"Nothing," Beckett reiterates morosely. "Not after I saw the bruises and not before."

Nodding, Dr. Burke decides it's time to bring her partner's situation back to his patient. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"Because he's worried that I already have enough to deal with," she answers, still no happier. "He's not gonna ask for help, at least not from me."

"Are you convinced he needs help?" the therapist asks. Noting her look of surprise, he offers a theory. "You've intimated that Mr. Castle has engaged in different types of risky behavior in the past. Might he be doing something that's causing these injuries?"

"I don't think so," she replies, looking pensive. "Castle's not really a ' _Fight Club_ ' kind of guy," she offers, though she makes a mental note to see if she can't raise the Chuck Palahniuk novel in general discussion with him to see how he reacts. "Though I'm sure there're enough stressors in his life, including me, that might make it look attractive. Besides, the bruising pattern doesn't match that theory."

"What do you mean?" Dr. Burke asks, reminded again that he's speaking with a detective.

"If Castle was fighting or doing something similar, there would be visible injuries," she postulates. "But none of the bruises are apparent when he's clothed – nothing on his wrists, neck, or face. It seems… _calculated_ ," she offers, visibly uncomfortable with her own conclusions.

"As if someone was trying to ensure the injuries wouldn't be noticed?" the therapist follows up, clearly uncomfortable with the potential implications. Watching her slow nod, he again tries to drive the discussion to resolution. "How do you plan to proceed?"

"I need to talk to him, right?" she answers, confident in her answer but not in her ability to carry it out. "Somehow. Even though he doesn't want to."

"Perhaps we can discuss how you might elicit some discussion outside the context of an interrogation?" Dr. Burke asks, masking his satisfaction at this turn of events. While the situation is dire, he might be able to use Mr. Castle's situation as a way to get his patient to advance in her therapy. "If you'd like some advice," he offers with an upturned brow, "I have a little experience in getting obdurate subjects to talk."

So profound is her dismay for her partner's situation that it's not until that evening, when she's preparing for bed, that she realizes Burke's comment was pointed at her. And even then, her concern for Castle outweighs her discomfort at the accuracy of her therapist's remark.

* * *

A/N: This story looks like it'll be about eight chapters. The first six are written and in various states of review. I just need to finish the last two. Hoping to wrap things up before the first weekend in December, when I'm going to meet some of my fanfic heroes in NYC!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Hello, Kate," Dr. Burke greets Beckett at the door, gesturing towards her seat. "How are you this afternoon?"

"I still haven't talked to Castle," she admits immediately, diving in to this session even before she takes her seat.

"So, let me guess where you'd like to start," Dr. Burke offers with a small smile, trying to take the sting out of his patient's concern. "Have there been any additional circumstances to provide insight into his situation?"

"No," Beckett replies gratefully. "No anger and nothing violent. But we still haven't really talked about it – he's just so good at deflecting any conversation away from himself that he derails me before I even get started."

"It's been a week since we spoke about Mr. Castle's injuries and how you might address them," Dr. Burke reminds them both. "Should we consider a different strategy? If this is causing you more duress, it might be time to find an alternate strategy. A surrogate, perhaps? Maybe Doctor Parish or your father?"

"No," Beckett rejects the suggestion immediately. "It needs to be me. I can do it. I was _ready_ to do it. Twice."

"What happened?" her therapist asks. "Is that something we should talk about?"

Nodding, Beckett clearly intends to devote this session to figuring out how to approach her partner. "Yes. I was going to talk to him in the precinct," she explains with a shrug. "I figured it's a safe, comfortable, relatively neutral place."

Dr. Burke pulls his head back at this comment, tilting his chin down to cast a dubious look.

"Well, it's more neutral than his loft or his bar," she defends herself. "Or even my place. So, I figured we could talk at work, maybe over lunch."

"So, what happened?"

"Ryan and Esposito," she growls in reply, running a hand through her hair. "They've been a little out of control."

"How so?" Dr. Burke asks, surprised to hear dissension within the ranks of his patient's team.

"We're testing new surveillance equipment," Beckett answers with a sigh. "Tiny new devices for CIs – sorry, confidential informants – or undercover officers to record conversations. They're mostly for Vice or White Collar, but each department got some for evaluation. The boys keep talking about how they're going sneak a bug onto Castle."

"To learn how he's getting hurt?" the therapist reacts in surprise. "I was unaware that they knew of his injuries."

"No," Beckett answers, blushing. "To… um…"

"Yes?" Dr. Burke prompts, surprised at his patient's hesitancy.

"Word got out that I didn't call Castle during the summer," she explains. "Some of my colleagues think that means Castle's available," she continues, picking up speed due to her discomfort with the topic. "The boys are anxious to record some of those conversations so they can tease him."

"I see," Dr. Burke answers with a frown, wondering at the high-school antics. "And you're concerned about how Mr. Castle might react to one of these expressions of interest?"

"No," Beckett answers quickly, shaking her head. "We've talked about that. He won't see anyone in the precinct," she answers with a blush, looking down. What Castle had said, actually, was that he wouldn't date anyone _else_ in the precinct. She'd blown off his comment as more flirtatious bravado, but she's learned better since then. She knows Castle likes to wrap the truth in a joke or a pass to ease its delivery. "And I'm sure he'll be kind while diverting anyone who approaches him."

Dr. Burke nods, remaining silent to avoid breaking Beckett's explanation.

"I don't trust the boys. I'm worried that I'll talk to Castle and find out later the whole conversation's been recorded. It's going to be a difficult enough talk without that nonsense," she huffs, getting a nod of agreement from her therapist. "And I don't need any evasions about Lady Irena on tape," she mumbles.

"Lady Irena?" Dr. Burke asks, curious about the introduction of a new character in this drama.

Blushing in embarrassment about being heard or the subject matter, Beckett offers a quick explanation to move off this topic. "She's a, uh, different kind of therapist we met on one of our cases. One whose services could leave bruises."

" _Oh_ ," Dr. Burke replies, eyebrows comically high. "Yours seems like a sensible precaution," he offers, not interested in lingering on 'alternate therapy' and thinking that the teasing her colleagues intend could backfire spectacularly and do a fair bit of harm to Detective Beckett's progress. "You said you tried two times – tell me about the other attempt?"

"I gave up on the neutral ground theory," Beckett confesses, blushing again. "I visited his loft. It… didn't go well."

* * *

"Detective Beckett?" Alexis greets in a subdued tone after opening the door.

"Hello, Alexis," Beckett replies in a tone that reaches for friendly but probably still sounds nervous. "Is your dad here? I was hoping to talk to him."

"No," Castle's daughter replies, brows furrowed. "He's at Black Pawn tonight, hammering out his promotional responsibilities for the next two quarters. He won't be back for a few hours. And after that long with Gina and Paula, he'll probably be irate, drunk, or both."

"Oh," Beckett replies, wondering why he hadn't mentioned anything to her. The answers arrive almost immediately – he won't do anything that suggests his time at the precinct is impinging on his home or work life, since doing so might limit the time he can keep an eye on his partner as she continues to recover. And he's become very careful about mentioning Gina after their disastrous parting for that second summer, which seems so long ago now. "Sorry to bother you, I didn't know."

Beckett's apology causes Alexis to look confused again. Clearly, the notion of a contrite partner hadn't figured into Alexis' conception of the detective. The reaction helps Beckett decide to pursue a risky strategy.

"Look, Alexis," she says, somewhat abruptly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

The young woman purses her lips but holds the door open, good graces and upbringing apparently winning out over other considerations. Once Beckett's entered the loft, though, Alexis doesn't repair to the lounge. Instead, she stands beside the door, silently signaling her hopes for a brief conversation.

Beckett's conducted more than enough interviews to recognize the body language and she's not here to cause trouble. So, she decides, best to jump right in.

"I'm worried about your father," she prefaces, watching Alexis grow concerned. "I think…," she continues, starting to grow concerned about betraying Castle's trust but convinced that the potential danger to him demands her efforts, "I think he's been hurt. I think someone's hurting him."

Alexis' massive snort is highly undignified but elegant in its brevity. " _Yeah_ ," she answers after raising and lowering a hand to her mouth after her outburst. "Someone's definitely hurt him," she agrees readily, nodding while piercing Beckett with the cool, blue eyes she inherited from her father. "Someone's definitely still hurting him."

"Someone besides me," Beckett answers in a small voice, looking at the toes of her boots.

Alexis remains quiet after Beckett's admission, finally prompting the detective to raise her eyes. "I'm not sure I'd notice anything other than the obvious," she offers, keeping her tone remarkably light. Martha, or perhaps even Meredith, would be impressed by her dramatic control. "What does Dr. Parish call it? Oh, yeah – post-mortem scarring. I think the damage has been done, Detective. Anything more at this point is probably just overkill."

Alexis pauses, providing Beckett an opportunity to object or explain. For her part, Beckett's decided that any further discussion is unlikely to do anything to protect Castle and might just give him one more reason to be upset.

"Now, Detective, if you have any questions about my father," Alexis says while reaching for the doorknob, "I think you should talk to _him_ , not me." With that, Castle's daughter stops talking and draws open the door, holding it open while looking openly at Beckett.

Nodding, Beckett moves to the doorway. Before she passes into the hallway, though, Beckett turns in place and addresses the young woman again. "If anything's wrong, you can call me. Or the boys," she adds, noting Alexis' expression hadn't reacted at all to her offer. "I just want him to be safe," she adds with a shrug. This produces pursed lips and raised brows, making Beckett wonder if she's digging a deeper hole. "I'm sorry," she finally offers, stepping backwards so that Castle's daughter can gently close the door on her.

* * *

"An inauspicious meeting," Dr. Burke summarizes. "But you knew this was likely to occur. We've talked about Ms. Castle's likely reactions to what happened to her father, both at the funeral and after."

Beckett nods along sadly. "I wasn't surprised by her reaction. I'd just let myself hope that maybe she wouldn't be so upset. All things considered," she allows, "she was actually pretty polite."

"Except, perhaps, for the snort," Dr. Burke replies, again trying to cheer his patient. "I can understand your concern about this meeting, but I'll confess that I'm impressed," he says while watching Beckett's bloom of astonishment. "You knew your reception was unlikely to be a warm one, yet your concern for Mr. Castle's safety led you to act. Those are hardly the actions I'd expected after the way you started our session today."

"It doesn't matter, though, does it? The fact is I'm no closer to figuring out who's hurting Castle or why he's allowing it," Beckett laments.

"And you're convinced that you should be the one to pursue this with Mr. Castle?" he inquires.

"Yes," Beckett answers quickly. "For so many reasons, it has to be me."

"Then, perhaps I could assist?" he asks, surprising the detective. "It's sensible, don't you think? You want someplace neutral," he reiterates, gesturing to his office with an airy wave. "And back when you asked for a counselor recommendation, you knew he'd ask if you were seeing a therapist. So, if he's going to find out anyway, why not begin the conversation by proving your commitment to recovery?" he asks reasonably. "In a moderated conversation, I can help ensure that we address the topics of relevance without drifting off course. And although I'm not actually a couples' counselor," he adds, watching Beckett's cheeks grow pink, "I suspect I could help moderate any communication difficulties until the two of you are more comfortable speaking directly about difficult personal subjects."

"I…," Beckett trails off, her instinctual reaction to reject Dr. Burke's offer warring with her goals for herself and Castle. "I'd like to try that," she vows after a fortifying breath. "I…," she seems to stumble again, probably considering the magnitude of her commitment. "Thank you," she whispers.

"Would you like to invite him or shall I?" Dr. Burke follows up, trying to exact a commitment to ensure forward movement.

"I want you to call him," Beckett says clearly after a moment's thought, "if I haven't managed to do it by our next session." Dr. Burke nods and again lets a small grin show, pleased to hear that his patient is employing commitment devices herself.

"Excellent," he praises, rising to his feet. "Then we have a plan of action," he summarizes to praise their progress. "I shall be quite curious as to how the next week develops. Don't feel obliged to wait until our next session to apprise me of any developments."

"I'll keep that in mind," Beckett says with a low chuckle, still a little shocked at her own plan. "As for now, I should probably get back to the precinct. Thank you, Doctor Burke," Beckett repeats herself as she pulls out her phone to take it off mute and reconnect to the precinct.

"My pleasure, Kate," he replies honestly. His happiness at their progress curdles, though, as Beckett grows rigid and pale, looking at her phone as it continually vibrates in her hand, a slew of texts she missed during her session scrolling across the screen.

"Oh, God," Beckett groans as she sways distressingly, causing Dr. Burke to lurch into motion. Before he can reach her side, though, Kate's morphed from therapy patient into Detective Beckett. Had he not seen it, Dr. Burke might not've believed the transformation.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"I don't know," Beckett answers, already striding toward the door. "There's something going on at the 12th," she explains, already lifting the phone to her ear. "Espo's last text just said ' _They took Castle_.'"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Brazenly employing her lights and siren cut a few minutes from her drive to the precinct, Beckett's still a wreck when she pulls up to the precinct. What she sees causes her heart to clench even tighter. It looks like a crime scene – the entry's cordoned off, there are officers milling about to divert onlookers, and medical personnel are loading patients into ambulances. That last observation breaks what little of her resolve that remains. Beckett pulls to the side of the street, double-parking her cruiser without a care as she bails out and races toward the front door.

Luckily, her team is waiting to intercept her. Ryan holds his hand out, offering to move her car without a request. She nods thankfully as she drops the keys into his palm. "Meet you in the conference room," he says, more to Esposito than to her.

Turning to Espo for an explanation, he just motions toward the front door of the precinct, stopping to raise the yellow tape so that Beckett need not stoop to continue. It's a task Castle usually prides on doing for her, which just drives home her concern. "Where is he?" she asks of Espo as she passes beneath the tape. "Where's Castle?"

"He's upstairs with Gates," Espo says tersely. "He's fine. But we need to talk." Clearly, he's not keen on discussing whatever's happened in the open, which doesn't do anything to allay her fears. But she follows his lead, remaining quiet as they're waived through security. The elevator is cordoned off and being worked over by a CSU team, which prompts more raised eyebrows from Beckett. Esposito ignores the activity as he moves to the stairs, leading them to the fifth floor conference room. While he still doesn't talk, Espo points to Gates' office as they pass. Beckett's relieved to see Castle's back as he sits in the chair facing Gates' desk, though she's still worried about whatever took place during her absence and the content of what looks like a serious conversation between Castle and her boss.

They're just entering the conference room when Ryan catches up to them, slightly winded from his jog from the depot and up the stairs. He follows them into the room and closes the door, though he doesn't close the blinds. Beckett had prepared to stop him from doing so, since she's interested in keeping an eye on activity around Gates' office.

"The guy Karpowski's team picked up this morning," Espo begins, almost as if giving a case report, "the one tied to the Washington case, his attorneys came to see him." Beckett nods, remembering the large, unruly, and unwashed specimen of thuggery Karpowski wrestled into interrogation to start the day. "The lead attorney was a woman a little shorter than you, blonde," he adds almost inconsequentially. "There was another guy with her, but she did all the talking."

Beckett nods, trying to contain her impatience.

Ryan knows his boss well, so he takes up the narrative to keep things moving. "Unis brought the guy up from Holding. They uncuffed the suspect – Dennis Eckes – and were leaving when his 'attorneys' took their chance. The woman leveled Hastings and took her piece. Eckes picked Hastings up and held her out like a shield while they made a move to the elevator. But Castle…," Ryan trails off, looking uncomfortable, "… Castle was standing near the elevator talking to Dixon from Vice," he finishes with a blush that instantly conveys the subject of her partner's conversation.

"The blonde woman recognized Castle," Espo interjects quickly so they don't dwell on what Castle was doing near the elevator. "She told Eckes to drop Hastings and take Castle instead. Castle almost screwed it all up – Eckes literally dropped Hastings and wasn't pleased when Castle caught her. He cracked Castle with a backhand, then shoved him into the elevator."

"Which was a tactical mistake," Ryan adds immediately, recognizing that Beckett was about to make the same point. "They should've taken the stairs. But all three piled into the elevator, along with Castle. So we called down to the security desk and ran like hell for the stairs to beat the elevator down. But when we got to the bottom…"

"What?" Beckett asks, annoyed that Ryan stopped his recital at the critical point. "What happened in the elevator?"

"We don't know," Esposito answers, running a hand through his hair. "The doors opened and all three were down. Castle was kneeling off to the side of the doors so he wouldn't accidentally get shot by the cavalry. As soon as it was clear, he stood up, said there was a wheelman around the corner, then got out of the way. Gates hustled him up to her office. They've been in there since then."

"We need to know what happened in that elevator," Beckett answers in a low voice that still conveys her fury. If anything had happened to him while she was with Burke... "And I need to make sure those three never step foot outside a cell again."

"Tory pulled the elevator footage for Gates," Espo answers. "She'll get us a copy."

For some reason, Esposito looks uncomfortable with what sounds like a good answer. Swiveling to look at Ryan, Beckett sees the same odd look there. She focuses on the younger detective, certain he's the weaker link. " _And_ …?"

"And," Ryan admits quietly, cringing, "we've got surveillance audio on Castle."

" _What_?!" Beckett shouts, coming out of her chair. "You idiots actually bugged him? So you've got this whole thing recorded? _Play it_!"

Rallying to defend his partner, Esposito steps in. "We heard this morning that Dixon was gonna make a play for Castle. It was a perfect chance to test the new tech," he tries to justify, before quailing at Beckett's fierce look. "But we haven't listened yet – it's still recording."

"What?!" Beckett repeats again, this time with a tone of worry leavening her indignation. "It's recording now, while he's talking with Gates?"

"We didn't want to turn it off," Ryan admits, "not once it captured the attempted kidnapping. And now we're screwed because it'll have to be logged as evidence."

Rubbing her brows, Beckett tries to figure out a way of this box. The boys will certainly be reprimanded, maybe busted down in rank or even terminated. It's the last thing Castle would want, though he's not likely to be amused with their prank.

"Here's what we're gonna do," she decides, taking command. "When he comes out, you're going to retrieve the bug, making sure _no one_ sees what you're doing. We'll take that, and the video from Tory, and review both outside of the precinct. If there's nothing of use on the recording, we destroy it and never mention it again – not even the bit about Dixon," she says, leveling each of the boys with a look.

"If there is something on the recording…," she trails off, thinking. "If there is something on the recording, then we say I did it. I'll explain it as protecting my partner or something. Dixon's been gunning for me since she went to Vice, probably tired of hearing stories about my time there."

"No," Esposito answers immediately, bolstered by Ryan's vigorous head shake. "We did this, Beckett. We take the fall."

"You ready to lose your jobs?" she asks fiercely, noticing both of them flinch. "They'll go easier on me – bad press to discipline the cop who got shot while eulogizing her captain. Besides, the Union'll shred anyone who tries to fire one of the few female detectives for an offense like this. No, it's got to be me, guys," she says more calmly, showing them that she understands the ramifications of her decision. "And _only_ me."

Neither of the boys say anything for a few long moments. Then, Ryan extends a fist. "Thanks," he says heavily after Beckett obliges in a fist-bump. "Sorry to put you into this position, Beckett."

"Yeah, thanks," Espo adds, giving a bump of his own and looking chastened. "We can go to my place to review the recordings," he offers, trying to make amends. "But let's get out of here," he says while pointing towards Gates' office. "Looks like things are breaking up."

They're still moving towards Gates' office when Castle emerges, looking ruffled and pale. He's surprised when Beckett wraps him in a quick, fierce hug. "I was so worried," she whispers to him. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

He's about to reply when she drops her arms and steps back, clearing the way for the boys. Castle remains focused on her until the backslaps and bro-hugs distract him. Looking away from the testosterone-fest, Beckett's surprised to see an odd look on Gates' face. It's one more thing for her to think about once they get away from here.

She's just stepping away from the scene and toward her desk when she collides with someone. Looking up, she sees Tory apologizing profusely for her clumsiness, quickly stepping away with a wink. Patting her pocket on the way to her desk, Beckett contains her smile at feeling a memory stick. For a tech analyst, Tory's pretty smooth.

The boys lead Castle over to their desks, trying to keep the mood buoyant with jokes and teasing even though it's clear Castle's not his normal self. Espo gives Beckett a surreptitious nod, confirming that he's retrieved the bug. They're set for their viewing party, but Beckett needs to attend to her partner, first.

"Hey, partner," she says warmly as he folds himself into the seat next to her desk with a sigh. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Beckett," he says in reply, hew words blatantly at odds with his demeanor and posture.

"No, you're not," she disagrees seriously, leaning in and shocking him by reaching for his hand. "Your hands are shaking and you're pale. You're on the downslope on an adrenaline rush. It'll hit you harder soon if it hasn't already peaked. Always does. I've been there, Castle," she confesses quietly. "I can help you deal with it."

"I'm fine," he repeats stubbornly. "I just don't want to think about it right now."

"Okay," she replies kindly. "You're gonna call me if you need to talk, right?" she asks pointedly, squeezing his hand hard to mask her concern with bravado. "You're not gonna do anything stupid like run away to a cabin to deal with it by yourself, are you?"

Her words take him aback, force him to pause for several long moments before replying.

"I'm sure if I needed to," he says slowly, his shock at her physical contact compounded by her willingness to refer to their dark summer apart, "a good partner would understand why I left," he admits quietly, pausing again as they both recognize the import of their words.

"But I'm not going anywhere," he restarts the conversation, "except home to the loft. I need to see my little girl. And maybe even my mother."

"Okay, partner," Beckett says bracingly, standing up and pulling on his hand to make him rise, too. "Let's get you to the loft."

"I can take a cab, Beckett," he replies while cutting her a look. "Just like any other day."

"If you think I'm letting you out of my sight before you're safely delivered to the loft," she answers with a raised brow and challenging look, "you're absolutely crazy." Noticing that he's getting ready to object again, Beckett drops her reserve. "Please?" she whispers, voice nearly breaking. "For me?"

"Not fair," Castle mumbles, though any fight seems to have left him. "Alright, let's go. But if we're trying to make me comfortable…," he starts a feeble joke.

" _I'm_ driving," she answers immediately, well aware of his end-game. "You were just in a traumatic situation, Rick. It's not safe for you to be behind the wheel."

"I'm fine," Castle mumbles again as they walk toward the stairs, just in case the elevator is still being processed. He's taken several steps before he turns and gives her an odd look. "Rick?"

"No, I'm Kate," she replies, looking purposely confused. "Did you get hit on the head?"

"No, you called me 'Rick,' not Castle," he replies. "You were worried about me."

"I told you that!" Beckett replies, embarrassed by her slip.

"You might've been worried about your partner, Castle," he answers, sounding puzzled. "But it sounds like you also might've been worried about your friend, Rick."

"Of course I was," she replies, bashful. "I wouldn't make it without either one of you."

Fifteen minutes later, they're in her car, closer to the loft than the precinct. She's been chatting the whole time, trying to make sure he doesn't have time to brood on what happened. It's been a monologue, though, as he remained silent and introspective during the drive. But she's running out of time, and if today proved anything, it's that she can't afford to let herself dawdle.

"Castle?" she asks, her hesitant tone signaling the shift to a different topic. When he turns to look at her profile, she dives in before she can falter. "I've been seeing a therapist about my shooting and what happened afterward," she says, her hands tightening on the steering wheel as she hears her partner's soft intake of breath. "Will you attend my next session with me?"

"Kate, I don't need to see a therapist," he demurs, though it's clear he's surprised by her request.

"I'm not sure about that," she replies honestly. "I didn't think I did, either. But that's not why I asked," she continues quickly to prevent him from objecting again or asking about her what changed her mind about therapy. "There are things I want to tell you, things I want to talk about, and I think it'll be easier if we talk there. Would that be okay? Please?"

"Yes," he answers. She's not sure if she's happier about his immediate reversal or the awed tone of his voice. "Of course," he whispers.

"Just promise me one thing?" she asks. When he agrees, she names her terms. "Call me, okay? Any time, day or night – if whatever happened today starts to get on top of you, just call me and we'll talk. About that or nothing at all, whatever works. But you gotta call me."

She can tell he wants to turn this around, tell her that this goes both ways and she should call him – _should've_ called him, anytime during their terrible summer. But she can see in her peripheral vision the exact moment he lets that go.

"I will," he promises. "I won't even use it as an excuse to call when I think you might be in the bath," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, Castle, if you had any idea how many times we've talked while I've been wearing nothing but a thin layer of receding bubbles, you wouldn't joke so easily," she teases in reply, breaking into laughter at his immediate double-take.

Their banter seems to be lifting Castle's mood, but they run out of time and distance before making any other gains. Earlier than she'd prefer, Beckett slows the car and pulls to the curb outside his building. "You want to come up?" he asks. "An early dinner?"

"Another time, Castle," she replies. "You need to spend some time with Alexis. Go bond with your daughter and don't forget to call me, right?"

"Right," he capitulates with a nod. Then, after a deep breath, he exits her car, uttering a heartfelt thank you before tapping on the roof of her cruiser and seeing himself inside. Beckett waits until he's lost from view before pulling back into the street, already dialing her phone.

"Espo? I just dropped off Castle. I'm on my way. Let's find out what actually happened today."

* * *

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Best wishes for a time of thanks and appreciation, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. As for me, I have much for which to be thankful, including a wonderful family and good friends. Thank you all.

My apologies for breaking the chapters on the cusp of discovering what happened in the precinct. All will be revealed in the next two chapters, which will post before I return home on Sunday (as long as I can respond to reviews before then). The last chapters of this story were giving me trouble, but I think I finally worked things out with chapter seven. With luck, chapter eight will flow easily and conclude this tale.

Safe travels.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Italic sections in this and the next chapter denote excerpts from the surveillance tape. More notes below.

* * *

Beckett's leaning on the hood of her cruiser when Esposito finally arrives at his apartment building, Ryan riding shotgun. She wanders over to where they've parked, watching Ryan retrieve the receiver for the surveillance equipment from the trunk. The three move silently until the door closes behind them on the way into the apartment.

"Took you long enough," she offers to break the silence, watching Esposito clear the coffee table of game disks and controllers.

"Surprised you didn't break in," he replies as he walks to the console and pulls a cable from behind the TV, stretching it to the coffee table where Ryan's setting up his laptop.

"Thought about it," Beckett admits. "But I didn't want to trip over discarded panties or swooning police groupies."

"I wish," Espo gruffs out as he plugs Ryan's laptop into the power strip for his gaming system. "We set? Anyone want a beer?"

"I think I'd better keep a clear head until we know what we're dealing with," Beckett answers, moving over to take a seat on the couch next to Ryan while extracting the memory stick Tory provided. "We might need to do a fair bit of drinking after we listen," she adds fatalistically, garnering nods from the boys.

"Elevator footage or audio first?" Espo asks as he takes a place on the couch to Ryan's other side.

"Let's try to sync them," Beckett suggests. "We know he didn't end up in the elevator until after his talk with Dixon," she says directly, keeping her tone even despite her consternation with that situation. "Ryan, can you have the video ready to go and we'll play it when we get to that point in the audio?"

"Sure," Ryan answers, inserting the memory stick into his laptop and messing around for a few moments to get it queued up and ready to play on his partner's television. "There," he says, finally. "It might not synchronize perfectly, but we'll at least be close."

"Okay," Beckett says with a fortifying breath, "let's see what your juvenile little sting captured."

Ryan turns to the other laptop, the one integrated with the new surveillance bug they'd planted on Castle. There's no video, just a horizontal line that jumps around like an erratic EKG depending on the volume and tone of captured audio.

"We turned it on just after Dixon called out to Castle and waved him over toward the elevator. That's where it'll start.

* * *

" _Hey, Castle," Dixon says brightly as he draws near. She's dressed casually in jeans and a flowy blouse, dark hair free and cascading around her shoulders. It's neither a uniform nor an undercover outfit, so Castle assumes she must've just clocked out._

" _Hey, Dixon," Castle replies in friendly tone. "What can I do for you?"_

" _You can start by calling me Riley," she laughs, reaching out with a playful chuck to his shoulder. "And then you can join me for a late lunch."_

" _I thought it was a rule to address cops by their surnames," Castle teases, rubbing his shoulder as if stinging from her shot. "I didn't even know you had a first name."_

" _See?" Dixon answers immediately. "You're learning all about me already. Imagine how much better you could know me," she pauses to quirk an eyebrow, "after we spend some time together over lunch."_

" _Sorry, Riley," Castle replies kindly, "but I was just heading out. If boring paperwork is the order of the day, I might as well attend to my own. Besides, I told my daughter I'd pick her up from school this afternoon."_

 _If Dixon's half as quick as Beckett, she'll understand his comment was an excuse to reference his daughter as a way of emphasizing his identity as a father rather than a single man._

" _Dinner, then," Dixon proposes, undeterred._

 _Castle smiles as he offers a sigh. "I appreciate the offer," Castle replies honestly, sounding disappointed that this opportunity can't be pursued. "But I'm in the middle of a romantic moratorium. I've made so many mistakes that I need to take a break to lower my average," he says, offering a self-deprecating joke to steal any sting from his lack of interest._

" _I can wait," Dixon answers, clearly unwilling to let Castle off the hook._

" _You shouldn't," he assures her._

" _Neither should you," she parries. "You don't need to wait, Rick. You shouldn't have to wait. You deserve more," Dixon coos, stepping into Castle's personal space and putting a hand on his forearm. "You deserve *better*."_

" _Riley," Castle confides, his lowered tone and use of her name both inviting confidence, "I'm in deep trouble if I ever get what I deserve." Castle's short answer is an attempt to avoid bringing Beckett into the conversation, which would certainly embarrass her and probably enrage her. If Dixon has any compassion, she'll stop pushing and let the subject drop._

" _What makes her worth the wait?" Dixon asks, shattering Castle's hope of keeping his partner clear of this conversation. "How do you know you're not waiting in vain? You've been here for years and she doesn't even see you."_

" _I'm waiting," Castle answers in a voice growing inpatient and less friendly, "because it's what I need to do. It's not a decision based on anyone else – just me and what I need."_

" _I was wrong about you," Dixon cuts at him, finally withdrawing her hand. "I thought you were a player, someone who knew how to have a good time. But you're just a whipped little puppy, aren't you? Begging for little scraps of attention until your owner tosses you out in the yard. What's the matter?" she asks, annoyed that he's not even looking at her anymore. "Can't face the truth? Can't…"_

" _Quiet!" Castle cuts her off with an urgent whisper. "Something's not right. What're those people doing?"_

* * *

"Stop the tape."

Beckett stands from the couch and strides into Esposito's kitchen area, desperate to put a little distance between her and the boys. They're obviously getting to the kidnapping attempt, but Beckett needs to pause for a moment to process what she just heard. How many times has that happened to her partner, she wonders? Approached at work by someone who's interested, only to become the subject of derision when he refuses to engage, however politely. Beckett knows a precinct is a terrible crucible for relationships – everyone's watching, gossip spreads like wildfire, and reputations are built and torn down based on rumors that often have no basis in fact. Those are exactly the reasons she's been so wary of pursuing something with Castle, especially after painful experiences in her past.

She never considered that Castle might be facing the same thing. It's ironic that Dixon went from wooing Castle with promises of 'what he deserved' to laying into him in a completely undeserved way. She feels guilty enough about some of the things Dixon said about Beckett herself, but now she also feels guilty about the shots Castle will take if Dixon starts sharing her discontent around the precinct.

And the worst part, she admits, is that until recently she might've ignored the effects of a conversation like this on her partner. She's been so worried about the reputation of her team, of herself, that she probably would've been annoyed at the attention created by Castle's romantic foibles, even if he wasn't to blame. It makes her wonder if all the bruises he's absorbed recently are physical.

While Beckett helps herself to a glass of water, Ryan and Esposito trade uncomfortable looks. What started as a stupid prank has spiraled woefully out of control. Rather than fodder to tease Castle, their recording upset Beckett in a way they hadn't (but probably should've) anticipated. They sit at the couch and stew in their guilt, fearful that any efforts to talk about a way to lessen the discomfort will only increase the tension.

Beckett returns without a word, sitting on the couch and placing her glass of water on the coffee table, grabbing a videogame case as a coaster. "Let's go," she says, her voice eager to move past this early conversation and to find out what happened while she was with Dr. Burke.

* * *

" _Back off or she dies!" promises the blonde woman posing as Eckes' attorney as she waives the handgun taken from Hastings. With the officer as a shield, the trio moves slowly toward the elevator, heads swiveling to assess threats. The other fake attorney leads their triangle, reaching the elevator first and stabbing at the call button._

" _Down on the floor," he growls to Castle and Dixon. After a helpless look at each other, both start to crouch down before the blonde woman interjects._

" _Hold it – we want the pretty boy," she corrects her companion while pointing at Castle._

" _Don't know, L, he looks pretty big," Eckes objects, probably imagining he'd have to carry Castle as he's carrying Hastings._

" _He's a somebody – a reality TV guy or somethin'," she explains, though it looks like she's not happy about being questioned. Castle, meanwhile, looks mortally affronted for being confused for someone who might appear on The Wives of Wall Street. "Drop the girly and take him."_

 _Eckes literally complies, releasing a woozy Hastings who's bleeding from a blow to her temple. Castle lunges forward and catches her as she slumps, guiding her gently to the floor._

" _Are you al…," he starts to ask while wiping some blood from her cheek before he's knocked sideways by a fierce backhand._

" _Anybody moves, pretty boy here dies," the blonde threatens again before Castle's dragged backwards into the elevator car._

* * *

"Start Tory's video," Beckett directs.

Ryan complies, shifting the attention of the detectives from the surveillance laptop to Espo's TV for this portion of the drama.

* * *

" _How the hell we gettin' out of here?" Eckes asks. "We're in a fuckin' building full of cops."_

" _Randall's around the corner," the blonde replies, sending a text message to their getaway driver. "But we're screwed if this damn elevator moves any slower. Lift pretty boy there," she instructs, gesturing with her purloined gun. "And you're welcome for rescuing your fat ass, by the way."_

 _Standing behind Castle, Eckes hoists him up, nearly lifting him off the floor of the elevator. The blonde waves the gun, tracing the outline of Castle's body before stilling while pointed at his left thigh._

" _Whadya think – leg shot?" she asks, though it seems like she's thinking out loud rather than soliciting advice. "We need to show the cops we'll cap him if they get in the way. Can you carry him if I take out a leg? Or should we go for a shoulder?" she asks as the gun lifts._

" _Screw carrying him," Eckes replies. "Even if we got him, the cops are just gonna follow Randall's van."_

" _Not once we chuck a few pipe-bombs out the window and give the cops some civilian casualties to worry about. And maybe the bouncing body of a TV hack," she adds menacingly. "Now, which one?" she asks with a cruel smile. "Wing," she proposes as she points the gun at Castle's shoulder, "or drumstick?" she finishes as the gun drifts downward._

 _She's still laughing when Castle's foot connects with her wrist, sending the gun flying. He lashes his head backwards into Eckes' face, connecting solidly with his nose. The sharp crack and burst of blood leaves the big man reeling. Even as he staggers, though, Castle's reached out for the blonde, drawing her forward with a hand fisted in her shirt even as his head lowers to connect again. She slumps immediately to the floor as Castle spins in place._

 _The other fake attorney swings at Castle, his attempt clumsy due to the confined space and Eckes' efforts to right himself. Castle steps into the punch, letting it glance off his shoulder as he delivers a punishing uppercut that drives the air from the imposter's lungs. As he doubles over, Castle catches him by the throat and drives him into the wall of the elevator. The metallic clang of the impact masks the damage done to throat and head, but the imposter slumps bonelessly to the floor._

" _Gonna fuckin' kill you," Eckes promises in a burbling growl, tackling Castle as he turns. After driving Castle into the wall of the elevator, Eckes spins and dives for the gun that was taken from Hastings. Expecting Castle to compete for the weapon, he grins victoriously as he grasps the gun while unencumbered. His satisfaction is short-lived as Castle instead drops on top of him, lowering his elbow like a boom and driving Eckes' head into the floor of the elevator. With a hand tangled in Eckes' hair, Castle lifts and slams his head to the floor twice before letting go._

 _Standing slowly, Castle sways for a moment. "Ow," he mutters to himself as he rubs his head, first in the front and then in the back. Bending over to secure the weapon, he drags Eckes to the side to allow room beside the door. Kneeling, he shelters out of view as the elevator halts and the doors slide open._

" _Clear!" he calls out, tossing the weapon out of the elevator to reduce tensions among the officers arrayed in the lobby. "Suspects down. It's Castle – don't shoot me!"_

* * *

"What. The. Hell?" Esposito says while staring at the TV, hand fumbling out to pause the surveillance replay.

"Play Tory's video again," Beckett asks, staring at the TV as incredulously as her partners. The scene is even more unreal without sound – three assailants, kidnapping Castle, waving a gun around. And then an explosion of violence she never would've imagined from her partner. Had he not complained about his head afterward she'd be convinced it was someone else.

"So, what – ten or fifteen seconds?" Ryan asks, staring slack-jawed at the screen. "He took out all three by himself in _ten or fifteen seconds_?"

"How in the hell did he do that?" Esposito asks again, still shocked. "It's like he was somebody else. Castle couldn't do that. Castle couldn't even _write_ a takedown that well, much less pull one off."

"I think he might be training," Beckett speculates, mind spinning. Could this be the origin of his bruises? Maybe the angry take-down she'd witnessed was a learned response?

"Where?" Espo asks. "Play the video again," he says, standing and walking to the TV. "Okay, pause," he says after the blonde goes down. "So, it might look improvised, but the head-butts are the optimal move here. Limited space, crowded elevator. Too easy to get tangled or tackled. But, two quick moves – bam! bam! – and one's down and the other's hurt. Okay, play," he calls out to his partner.

"This guy," Espo says while pointing to the second fake attorney, "no head-butt for him. Pause it again," he says just before Castle gets tackled by Eckes. "Two shots, but all in one motion." He repeats Castle's move in slow motion, simulating an uppercut to the body that flows smoothly into a grab and thrust against an imaginary neck. "The first leaves the vic without air, the second incapacitates – quick, brutal, and efficient."

Ryan plays the rest of the clip, then stops the video altogether. "He's definitely had training or he's just really confident."

"Exactly," Esposito nods, impressed his partner noticed the same thing he did. "A noob would dive for the weapon, which just turns into a wrestling match in close quarters with two bodies in the way. Instead, he kept his footing, let Eckes make a move to expose himself, then countered. Know what this reminds me of?" he asks, looking from Ryan to Beckett and back again. "Basic Training. These are rougher forms of Army tactics – no frills, no messing around, just ruthless actions to stay alive. You might be right about the training, Beckett."

"You haven't mentioned the most obvious evidence," she replies, still looking at the darkened television screen. "He took the initiative. He wasn't cowering. And he hit a woman – he would _never_ have done that without training that taught him to see threats rather than genders. Not that it'll help him deal with the guilt," she finishes with a mumble, knowing her partner well enough to know that he'll be deeply troubled by his actions despite their necessity.

The three detectives ponder on this while Ryan restarts the audio, which runs without comment for several minutes. They hear Castle tell the first-responders about the get-away driver, warning them about munitions in the van. Gates arrives and directs Castle to her office, where she promises to join him as soon as the suspects and crime scenes are squared away. Then there's just the background noises of Castle making his way upstairs. Just when it sounds like he's ready to settle into Gates' office, they hear frenetic movement and doors slamming instead.

"Here it comes," Espo predicts, shaking his head.

"Here what comes?" Ryan asks.

"His lunch," his partner replies, grimacing to the soundtrack of Castle retching. "I woulda been even more surprised if the elevator scene didn't freak him out a bit."

His colleagues nod, listening to Castle vomit to the point of dry heaves before cleaning himself up and making his way back to Gates' office.

"Pause it," Beckett says, standing for a refill of her water. She needs a break before Castle's interview with Gates. But not everyone agrees.

"You mean stop it, right, not pause it?" Ryan asks challengingly.

"Why would we stop?" Espo asks. "I've _gotta_ hear how he explains this to Gates."

"But we don't _need_ to hear this – we shouldn't even have recorded this," he replies, turning to appeal to Beckett. "We said we were going to listen to the tape to see if it needs to be introduced as evidence. There's nothing about Castle's talk with Gates that'll be relevant for the case against those three," he asserts, pointing to the darkened TV.

"Beckett?" Esposito prompts, turning to her. "Your call – either as boss or as deciding vote. We gonna listen to the rest?"

The worst part is that Ryan's probably right. They shouldn't have taped the conversation with Gates in the first place and she'll certainly be furious if she finds out. But, having recorded it, they'd still save some goodwill, and perhaps their jobs, if they can vow that they hadn't listed to the portion with her talking to Castle. The evidentially value of that last bit is probably nil, anyway, so there's little justification for listening to it.

But she needs to hear this, needs to hear whether it explains how her partner is getting hurt or how he learned to do what she witnessed in the elevator. They're going to talk with Burke and she needs to know what she can do to help.

"Play the tape," she casts her vote.

"This is a bad idea," Ryan answers, shaking his head even as he goes about prepping the audio again.

"Kevin, you can leave if you don't want to be involved," Beckett replies with consideration. "In fact, maybe it'd be best if we kept someone clean, in case there's blowback."

"Yeah, not gonna happen," Ryan replies, offended. "My partner does something stupid, I need to back him up," he declares while cutting a look at a shrugging Esposito.

"Exactly," Beckett nods, agreeing with his point.

* * *

A/N2: This and the next chapter post a little early because it turn out we're leaving insanely early tomorrow to return home after a wonderful Thanksgiving break. I hope you like these chapters. When I write a story, there's usually a scene or two that motivate the tale. For this story, chapters 5 and 6 are what I had in mind. With any luck, they justify the read so far!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Italic sections in this chapter denote excerpts from the surveillance tape. More notes below.

* * *

" _Thank you for waiting, Mr. Castle," Gates says as she steps into her office and moves to close the door. Before she can complete the motion, Tory approaches with hand extended. The ladies talk briefly and quietly, so that Castle can only hear low mumbles of their whispered conversation. Within moments, Tory is on her way and Gates is closing the door before stepping around to sit behind her desk._

" _Ms. Ellis just delivered the surveillance film from the elevator," Gates says to open the conversation. "Before we view it, however, I'd like to hear your description of what happened. I'll have those comments transcribed and written up as a statement that you can review tomorrow or whenever you're next in the precinct."_

 _Castle looks at her in surprise – it sounds like her hedging about when he'll be back might be motivated by compassion rather than her usual disdain for his presence._

 _With trepidation spurred by her uncharacteristic demeanor, Castle describes what happened, from the conversation with Dixon (which failed to specify what they discussed), to catching Hastings, to being drawn into the elevator, and to the confrontation that followed._

 _It's a surprisingly factual recitation that impresses Gates, even if "I just fought them in the elevator on the way down" seems a bit of a vague and insufficient explanation. She attributes his candor and restraint to the existence of the video, which she'd mentioned in advance to minimize any of the author's more fanciful theories or turns of phrase._

 _He's just finished his description when he slaps himself in the forehead, grimaces for further abusing his own head, gives it a gentle shake, and asks a question of Gates. "Randall – the getaway guy – did you get him? Is everyone alright?"_

 _Gates suppresses a smile at this inquiry, though she's pleased. She's been surprised by the consideration Mr. Castle has shown to others involved in this fiasco. Hasting's statement lauded him for assisting her and his concern regarding the officers who approached the van seems genuine._

" _The fourth suspect seems to have been relegated to driving due to his cautious and non-confrontational demeanor," she explains diplomatically. "He did not offer any resistance. The bomb squad is inspecting his vehicle now."_

" _Good," Castle sighs, relaxing with this news and the conclusion of his statement._

 _Gates takes an opportunity to scribble a few more notes about Castle's statement, drawing two harsh horizontal lines on her legal pad to partition those notes from what's to follow. "Now, Mr. Castle," she says as she loads the video and spins her laptop so that it faces him, "let's watch the video," she finishes as she stands and walks around to take the guest chair next to him so they can watch what follows together._

 _The Captain has a difficult time retaining her impassive expression while they watch the tape. Castle's uncharacteristically quiet, though he raises a hand and rubs his head in sympathy after the melee begins. He's paled anew by the time it's done and is wondering if the aftereffects of the fracas will overwhelm him again._

 _When the video reaches the point of officers swarming the elevator, Gates pauses the replay. Standing, she walks to her wastebasket and relocates it next to Castle, who blushes in reply even though nothing is said. After that, Gates returns to the seat behind her desk and turns her computer to rewatch the scene. Again, Castle can't tell if her actions signal disappointment, disdain, or compassion._

* * *

"Hear that tapping?" Ryan asks while all three detectives lean toward his computer. "Sounds like Gates is typing. I'd bet she watched the video again, maybe a couple times."

"Castle's quiet," Esposito notices. "Didn't think that was possible."

"He's struggling," Beckett answers, tone low as she recognizes the distress in her partner's voice, even if no one else does. "And he knows the inquisition's coming. He skated through his explanation of the fight but Gates won't move on until she knows what happened."

* * *

" _I must confess, Mr. Castle," Gates says after watching the video three more times, "I wouldn't have believed what happened had I not seen this video with my own eyes. Before we proceed, I need to ask: did watching the video refresh your recollection on any details of what occurred?"_

" _No," Castle answers, still looking a little pale. "I don't think I'll forget what happened today anytime soon."_

" _They say that about trauma," Gates offers in an attempt to be kind. "The incredible stress of the event indelibly etches the events into memory. It'll fade," she offers optimistically, "but I doubt you'll ever forget it."_

* * *

Sitting in Esposito's apartment and listening to the recording, Beckett fidgets in response to Gates' comments. If either Ryan or Esposito notice, they're smart enough to let it go without discussion. But she's not sure about Castle. She doesn't need him thinking about other examples of Gates' statement.

* * *

 _Making a show of flipping the legal pad closed and moving it into a desk drawer, Gates closes her laptop and leans forward to focus on Castle. "I have what I need for your statement," she concludes. "Now, I need to understand exactly what happened and what it means for the future of Detective Beckett's team."_

 _Castle gulps, but offers no other reaction. Gates is surprised; she was sure the author would need little prompting to talk. Instead, she turns to questions. "Let's start with this. How is it that you, a writer, managed so well when you 'just fought them?'" she asks, using his vague explanation in her question and accenting them with air quotes._

 _Castle's quiet for a few long moments, still taking measured breaths to deal with his nausea. Finally, after a deep breath, he answers Gates' question with one of his own._

" _What would've happened," he asks, leaning forward himself to compensate for his low tone, "if I was a cop back when Beckett was shot, if I was actually her partner?" When Gates furrows her brows, he takes it as a signal to continue. "Mandatory counseling, right? Because the Department knows that something like that affects both partners."_

" _True," Gates replies, nodding slowly. "When both partners are NYPD members," she allows, perhaps sounding somewhat sympathetic, "both receive counseling."_

" _No one said anything to me," Castle continues. "She disappeared, you kicked me out, and all I could think about is how I could let this happen."_

" _You were not the shooter, Mr. Castle," Gates feels obliged to remind him._

" _No, but I restarted her on the path that put her in a sniper's sights," he argues, quietly. "And I was the only one – in a group full of law enforcement personnel! – who saw the glint from that scope. But I was too slow," he laments in a broken voice, clearly reliving the day again in his mind. "Too slow to realize what it meant, too slow to react, and too slow to protect my partner."_

 _Castle sounds broken, the words tumbling from him harkening back to the harrowing depression that set in after the shooting._

" _I promised myself," he vows again loudly, forestalling what looked like an interjection from Gates, "that I'd be able to protect her if she survived. And since the Department wasn't providing help, I went somewhere else."_

" _What does that mean?" Gates asks, thrown by his last comment. She'd intended to address his guilt, but his reference to outside help has her intrigued and concerned._

" _Rather than psychological therapy," he answers, "I turned to physical therapy instead. I've been working on self-defense and some other stuff," he explains, offering no clarification when Gates' raised brows call him on his hedging. "I've been working on losing weight, too – kind of hard to enjoy a cheeseburger when fewer pounds would've made all the difference in reaching Beckett in time."_

 _Gates remains quiet for a few long moments, wondering which of many topics she should pursue. She decides, ultimately, on the most important. "You've identified a significant oversight in our policies and procedures, Mr. Castle, one that requires immediate correction," she offers to his surprise. "Your lack of standing as a member of the precinct is no excuse for us not sharing our hard-earned lessons about loss and grieving with you. After what happened to Detective Beckett, you should have been pointed to a therapist at the very least. Perhaps then," she continues in a pointed tone, "you would've recognized that you are not to blame for what happened to your partner, that torturing yourself cannot assuage any misplaced guilt and might actually harm your partnership."_

" _I would *never* harm my partnership with Beckett," Castle objects immediately, seizing on this one bit to the avoidance of all others and missing Gates' good advice in the process._

 _Gates again pauses, uncertain about how she'd prefer to proceed._

" _I've come to understand and appreciate your devotion to your partner," she starts carefully. "I'm growing concerned about your motivations. It sounds like your actions are determined by emotions, which is a good way to get compromised in the field. It's the reason the Department discourages – heavily – relationships between partners."_

" _I am compromised," Castle admits brazenly. "But you don't need to worry. Beckett knows how I feel and is letting me down gently. She's known since the funeral. As soon as she's back to full strength she'll send me on my way. Or I'll leave so she doesn't have to."_

* * *

Beckett's up and moving before she realizes it, before she consciously decides she needs space to process what she's heard. What the boys heard, too! And Gates! And Castle! Feeling the leading edge of a panic attack, Beckett darts into the restroom and locks the door behind her. Sliding to the floor with her back pressed against the door, she fights the dark waves that threaten to crest over her. Focusing on her breathing, she pulls out her phone and flips it over so it rests face-down in her palm. With her other hand, she traces the circumference of the phone, finger pausing at each corner. It's a technique Dr. Burke suggested, one she preferred to tracing her hand or running her finger over the ridges and valleys of her knuckles. The mindless, repetitive motion helps her clear her mind and allows her to slowly fight the rising tide of panic. Minute by slow, horrible minute, she fights to calm herself.

After nearly ten minutes, she's able to stand and step to the sink. Splashing some cold water on her face helps her refocus, at least until she realizes Espo has no towels in his bathroom. And, based on the general lack of cleanliness, she'd worry about pressing her face to any she found. With the three remaining squares of toilet paper dangling forlornly from the roll as her only alternative, she's forced to lift her shirt to dry her face. _Men_.

But her dismay with Espo's housekeeping actually brings her all the way back. Looking at herself in the mirror, she realizes that Castle knows. Somehow he knows she heard him, that she remembers what he said at Montgomery's funeral. And despite assuming the worst reason for her silence, he's still by her side, working to keep her safe while he thinks she's gathering strength to cast him off. It's so beautifully tragic she's not sure if she wants to kiss him, slap him, or dissolve into tears.

But not here. She's given the boys more than enough insight into her partnership without going on to seem frail in their presence. Flushing the toilet in case they're listening, she runs the faucet again to simulate washing her hands, then returns to the couch. From their painfully careful silence, she suspects they've not said a word in her absence, nor moved. She's a primed grenade, apparently, a characterization she'll accept if it keeps them quiet.

"Play the tape."

* * *

" _Your comment hardly makes me feel better, Mr. Castle," Gates declares in an ominous tone. "It sounds like you're suggesting Detective Beckett isn't ready to be back on active duty."_

" _Of course I'm not," he replies immediately, starting to sound more like his normal self. Apparently, arguing with Gates brings out the best in him. "At half-speed Beckett's better than anyone else in the NYPD and she's already about 70 percent now," he promises in a tone of admiration. "She'll blow you out of your chair, or find herself sitting in it, when she's back to full strength."_

 _Gates greets Castle's comment about Beckett replacing her with a sour look, which makes him look even cockier in response. Deciding this topic takes them away from the core issues, she shifts to his earlier comment to push him a little. "This isn't just about Detective Beckett. Her team seems to have accepted you."_

" _They tolerate me," he clarifies, his earlier bravado evaporating as the fatigue of the day and her interrogation has him confiding in the captain._

" _If so, that means they defer to her," Gates nods. "Are you sure she'll want you to leave? Perhaps you've misinterpreted the dynamics of your partnership. Or perhaps they can change."_

 _If this comment, coming from someone who'd fought his presence in the precinct, seems odd, Castle doesn't visibly react. "Even if I've misunderstood things she'll still ask me to leave. I'm working on something I'll turn over when she's ready. Once she sees it, any reluctance on her part will evaporate immediately."_

" _Something case-related?" Gates seizes on the topic. "That should be done officially and by professionals following proper channels. I would've thought you'd understand that by now."_

" _Sorry," Castle replies without sounding at all contrite, "but I don't trust anyone but Beckett with this. Anything I find goes to her and her alone. There's too much chance of something going wrong or being compromised otherwise. Coming from IA, I would've thought you'd understand that by now," he finishes, smiling pointedly at reusing her words._

" _It's better to volunteer what you know than be compelled to produce it," Gates replies ominously. Curiously, her threat only makes Castle laugh._

" _You can try," he offers magnanimously. "But you won't succeed. I've got legal and political resources like you wouldn't believe. Well, *you* might," he allows with a grin, "since they're the ones who cleared the way for me to return to the precinct."_

" _And yet now you're talking about leaving," Gates follows, deciding to drop the confrontational aspect of their discussion, at least for now. "If you're correct and Detective Beckett demands your departure again, what will you do?"_

" _Again?" Castle asks in an odd tone of voice._

* * *

"Oh, shit," Beckett groans, dropping her head into her hands. Not this. Not now.

" _Again_?" Ryan prompts, looking at Beckett.

"Again," Beckett confirms, feeling sick. "It was back with Montgomery, just before we found out about what he did, just before…," she trails off, getting sad nods from Ryan and Esposito in reply.

* * *

" _I… that is…," Gates stumbles uncharacteristically. Pausing to take a breath and reset, she gathers herself and starts over. "When I began my tenure at the Twelfth," she explains with more composure, "one of my first tasks was to go through the notes and files left by Roy Montgomery. Included among them," she says, sounding like a doctor revealing a terminal condition to a patient, "was his record of Detective Beckett's request to bar you from the precinct. It was a contributing factor to my later actions."_

" _I'm not surprised," Castle replies, though he looks disappointed. "We were in a bad place right before Roy died. Someone asked me to pull her back. I knew she wouldn't react well."_

" _Who?" Gates asks, surprised by these revelations._

" _Doesn't matter," Castle demurs, gesturing with his hand to wave the topic aside. "It was the right thing to do and I would've done it anyway."_

* * *

Beckett's slow head turn pins her team members with an inquisitive look.

"Wasn't me," Espo volunteers readily, turning to look at his partner to escape Beckett's attention.

"It wasn't me, either," Ryan replies slowly. "But maybe it should've been."

* * *

" _I'll confess," Gates continues, "you're not what I expected when I started. I'm beginning to appreciate that your contributions may have benefited the precinct. You know you have options for your next act, right, if you do need to leave?" she asks as she pulls open a desk drawer and extracts a folder that she places atop her closed laptop._

 _Castle's nodding even before she opens the file. "I get the same letters you do, maybe more. A few of them even mentioned hearing about me from you," he nudges, his intonation suggesting a question rather than a statement._

" _I owe you an apology for that," Gates confesses. "When I started, my opinions about you were not particularly flattering. And having you forced on me in direct contravention of my authority hardly endeared you to me. I might've shared my views on the situation a little too loudly at a law enforcement conference," she admits with a rare blush._

 _Chuckling in response, Castle absolves her of any guilt. "I can imagine. Don't suppose there's a recording of the conference?"_

" _I didn't say it during my presentation!" Gates replies, scandalized. "It came up between sessions and seemed to spread. People were interested and I thought you'd flit off to another opportunity, so it became a popular topic of discussion." With a slight shrug, Gates swallows her pride. "I'm sorry about that. You and I might not see eye to eye, Mr. Castle, but you're not quite the menace to my precinct I expected you to be."_

" _Nah, you were right," he denies with another chuckle. "I am a pain in the ass. But I think I've learned some things over the years. Though I doubt Beckett would agree, at least for form's sake."_

" _I disagree," Gates replies seriously, ignoring Castle's frivolity. "She's already defended your presence several times."_

 _Looking happier than he had when Gates spoke of Beckett wanting him gone, Castle gives a fond smile. "Just because she gives me trouble doesn't mean she'll let other people do the same thing. I learned long ago that Beckett doesn't respect people who can't take their shots. My head and ego were already pretty thick, so it worked out," he summarizes with another laugh. "And don't think I'm some helpless babe in the woods. I push, too, sometimes too hard."_

 _Gates nods but says nothing. She's still forming her opinion about Detective Beckett, but it seems like she's someone who performs better when someone's pushing against her. Though perhaps not on all subjects, if Mr. Castle is to be believed about her imminent desire for his departure._

" _So, if you received the same letters I did, you know you have other opportunities," she encourages, for his sake rather than the peace of her precinct. "Did any appear to provide the inspiration you'd need for your writing aspirations?"_

" _No," Castle answers firmly and immediately. "There's only one Nikki Heat because there's only one Kate Beckett. When it's time for me to leave, I don't think I could stand doing this somewhere else," he finishes sadly, contemplating the end._

" _What will you do?" Gates asks, moved by the sorrow in his tone._

" _Honestly? I have no idea," he answers with a grim huff and a bewildered tone. "This has become a central part of my life, much to my daughter's displeasure," he confesses, lacing his tone with what sounds like regret from the home front. "I might travel, I suppose, once Alexis leaves for college. Maybe see where the wind blows me."_

" _Based on what I've read, it might be to your benefit to have friends in law enforcement in that event," Gates offers, straining to look impassive._

 _Laughing delightedly, Castle accepts the olive branch of her jest. "True. I tend to get into trouble with too much time on my hands. Maybe I'll take my instructor's offer."_

" _Instructor?" Gates asks. "You mean your 'physical therapy' instructor?"_

" _Yeah," Castle confirms, smirking again at the air quotes Gates added to 'physical therapy.' "He's an older guy, recommended by some people I shadowed for Derrick Storm. He pushes me hard, has taught me some hard, painful lessons," he chuckles, rubbing his head again. "He's made some comments about bringing me into his group, which might be interesting. He's a good guy, but a little lonely," Castle comments as if recognizing a kindred spirit. "He kind of treats me like a son."_

* * *

A/N2: Many, many thanks for the reviews, follows, and favorites. I really enjoy hearing from people (or even noting that they're following), so those email notifications are great incentive. Thanks also to GeekMom, who slogged through these last two chapters (actually, all of the chapters) and provided valuable advice.

Two chapters left, I think, one of which is written. I hope to post them together and sometime soon.

Finally, if you're not reading Skeletons by ABettis41319, you're missing out on some delicious intrigue.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Well, those of you who predicted I'd need more than two chapters to tie this off were correct. I'm posting three chapters and that won't quite get us to the end, though we'll be close.

* * *

"I can't believe Gates was pimping out Castle!"

Intended to break the tension after listening to the end of the surveillance tape, Esposito's comment is ignored entirely by a brooding Beckett and taken as a serious inquiry by his partner.

"Why not?" Ryan asks, sounding chagrined. "It's not like he feels welcome. You heard him – he's convinced Beckett's gonna kick him out and we just put up with him."

"We _do_ put up with him," Espo agrees, not entirely seeing Ryan's point. "He said it, he's a pain in the ass."

"More so than anyone else who'd be in his place? For all his 'ridiculous' theories," Ryan leads, looking like he's not sure these theories are always so outlandish, "He helps with cases, keeps Beckett caffeinated," he says to provoke a reaction from her, unsuccessfully, "and has useful contacts. Castle's not bad to have around. We should probably tell him that."

Esposito's already shaking his head before Ryan finishes. "Not if he's doing something wrong, something that's gonna force Beckett to kick him out."

Esposito and Ryan trade glances when Beckett again fails to respond to something that would usually catch her attention. With shrugs and knowing looks, they wordlessly agree to push her a little harder.

"That's gotta be your case, right?" Espo asks. "He worked it until Gates kicked him out and it sounds like he hasn't stopped. Wonder why we didn't notice that. Kind of like his training, I guess. Never thought of Castle as a sneaky guy."

Still no reaction from Beckett, so it's time for Ryan to prod. "Remember that tumble he took with our suspect, the one who stole the antique desk? I wondered how he ended up pinning the guy. But now that I think about it, what happened there matches the elevator, right? If we hadn't stopped him, that guy would've ended up just like Eckes. But because he's Castle, we just assumed it was serendipitous."

" _Serendipitous_?" Espo asks his partner with a cross look. "Why not just say 'lucky'?"

"Castle would appreciate the distinction," Ryan sniffs, catching Esposito's subtle nod as they alight on another way to prod Beckett. "But you're right – some detectives we are if we didn't even notice the changes in him."

"Bruising," Beckett mutters, finally entering the conversation. "He's got bruising all over his torso, at least. I saw it when we confiscated his shirt at the Washington scene," she explains in a low monotone. Clearly, she's only half-present in the conversation as her mind explores other ramifications of what they heard. "He wouldn't talk about it. Refused to talk about it. I thought someone was hurting him."

"Someone probably _was_ hurting him," Esposito replies, unhelpfully. "We all saw the video. Castle must've learned some painful lessons to be able to pull that off. Dude probably sleeps in an ice bath."

Ryan returns the cross look to his partner when this last comment causes Beckett to drop her eyes, thinking again about the punishment Castle's endured in his 'physical therapy' due to misplaced guilt. When she appears to be lost in her wanderings, Esposito tries to bring their meeting to a close so Beckett can retreat and come up with a plan.

"What are you going to do? Kick him out?"

"Don't worry about that now," Ryan interjects, immediately shutting down the more troublesome question. "We've got time on that. What are we going to do about the recording?" he asks, pointing to the surveillance equipment.

"Give it all to me," Beckett says after a long sigh, deeply troubled by the conflicted, roiling emotions surging through her after listening to the tape. "I'll talk to Castle. I'm not sure what'll happen after that."

* * *

Castle's nervous. He's never been a big fan of introspection or the doctors who require it, so he can hardly sit still in the bland, muted waiting room to which Beckett's text directed him. It doesn't help that he hasn't seen her for two days, their only communication in that time limited to her short text providing the time and location for her therapy session. They didn't even travel here together, since she's having a solo session with her therapist before he'll join them.

"He's not so terrible," the matronly woman at the front desk confides, startling Castle. Blushing while picking up the magazine he was pretending to read, he tries to remember the last time he felt so nervous. He knows he's got to get himself under control for Beckett's sake. She asked him here, which must've been incredibly difficult for her, so he needs to swallow his own discomfort and be there for his partner. This is exactly what he's been working towards so it'd be a remarkable failure to let her down now.

"Just nervous," Castle laughs haltingly while returning the magazine to the tabletop. "I've never really done this before," he admits, renewing his blush. "And I've got to get this right."

"Can I tell you something, Mr. Castle?" she asks carefully. "We're not really supposed to talk about this, but I know who you are. I've never managed to brave one of the lines for your signings, but I've read your books and watched your interviews. You've never seemed shy," she notes with a little laugh at his abashed look. "So just ignore the setting. Imagine him as a fan or someone you met on a book tour. This isn't a test. It's just a chance to talk."

Visibly calmer, either due to her words or her manner, Castle stands and approaches while reaching out a hand. "Thank you …"

"Darlene," she answers, reddening a bit herself.

"Thank you, Darlene," he says meaningfully. "Please, call me Rick."

"Oh, I could _never_ ," she replies, blushing and scandalized and unaware she's still holding his hand.

" _Please_ ," he utters again, turning on the smile.

At that moment, the door to Dr. Burke's office opens and he emerges. His sudden appearance reminds Darlene of where she is. Dropping Castle's hand, she turns to face her boss and his wry look.

"Mr. Castle, I'm Carter Burke," the therapist offers with an open smile and outstretched hand after turning his attention to his guest. In truth, he's happy to see the writer. Detective Beckett's session has not gone well, for reasons that aren't entirely clear. She was guarded in her description of the topics she hoped to cover, had purposefully obfuscated the origin of some concerns, and is clearly deeply troubled about something that may or may not be related to what she intends to discuss. Perhaps her partner will restore her equanimity.

"You can call me Rick," Castle smiles in reply, shaking hands and darting a quick wink to Darlene.

"Thank you for coming in today. Detective Beckett's inside. Why don't you join her?" he offers, thinking it's best to give them some time alone. "I'll be there momentarily. I just need to speak with Darlene for a few moments."

Nodding, Castle's already on the move. Despite his discomfort at this whole setup and especially with entering the lion's den, that's where Beckett is so that's where he needs to be. He huffs to himself as he imagines whether there's a spectrum on which the magnetic forces that pull him toward her might be visible.

As anxious as he is to see his partner, he still pauses in the doorway. Something's wrong. Beckett's sitting on the couch, tucked to one side and displaying more than a few signs of discomfort. She's closed up, literally, with knees locked together and arms crossed. Her jaw's flexed nearly as tight as her hands, her eyes dart around defiantly, and her face is wan. In sum, she's radiating a powerful aura that screams _stay away_. So, of course, he rushes to her.

"Beckett, are you okay?" he asks urgently while stepping toward her after closing the door. "Did he…"

"I'm fine, Castle," she replies tightly, her words so laughably at odds with the situation that he actually speeds his approach.

Dropping to a knee directly in front of her, Castle cranes his neck in a vain attempt to make eye contact while tentatively reaching a hand out to grasp her knee. She focuses immediately on his hand with an unusual intensity, but says nothing.

"Beckett, we don't need to do this now," he offers. "There's no rush – I'll be happy to come here anytime you want. But it doesn't have to be today. Why don't we…"

"We need to do this, Castle," she replies, cutting him off while still staring at his hand. "It can't wait."

"Then we'll do it now," he pivots immediately, his effort to support his partner obvious. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

When Beckett says nothing, Castle backs off slightly. Lifting his hand from her knee and his knee from the floor, he takes the chance to glance around the office. It's almost exactly as he would've created it in a story, which doesn't help put him at ease. It makes him feel like he's being manipulated even before the therapist says a word.

"Be honest," Beckett says, voice still tight. "I need you to be honest," she says, knowing that her position for this demand is hardly unassailable. But Castle nods immediately.

"And…," she says before trailing off. "And you'll hear some things you'll recognize. I couldn't explain the circumstances to Dr. Burke, so just roll with what you hear. We can talk about the details later."

"If we're still talking?" Castle jokes, trying to pull a smile, or any usual reaction, from his partner. Instead, the smile slips from his face as she finally turns to look at him and nods in agreement.

* * *

Dr. Burke breaks the fragile silence when he enters a few long minutes later. Shockingly, Castle's thrilled to see him. While he's still fundamentally uncomfortable with the notion of counseling, he's increasingly agitated by Beckett's demeanor. His fears have taken flight since their brief conversation, so the doctor's arrival curtails the period in which Castle was working himself into a fine panic.

For his part, the therapist notices the tension immediately. Kate is still displaying the fierce defensiveness of a wounded animal. Rick looks bewildered – nervous about his presence here, concerned for his partner's wellbeing, and squirming under the weight of the office's oppressive silence. Dr. Burke knows he needs to get them talking, and soon.

"Let me describe the set-up for today," Dr. Burke begins, immediately collecting the attention of both people on the couch. "I've spoken with Kate, so I have an idea of topics that would be helpful to discuss. I'm not going to treat this like a normal session – I might prompt discussion with questions or suggestions to guide us to certain areas, but it is my hope that we'll have more of a discussion than a Q&A session," he offers gently. Beckett's posture hasn't changed, but then she'd known the plan for this session. Castle, on the other hand, looks cautiously optimistic about how things might proceed.

"Please remember," Dr. Burke adds as a final note, "I'm not here as a judge or even really as a therapist. My role is to help you talk to each other. I hope the topics and interactions here can grow into conversations away from my office." Beckett looks slightly more present and Castle's nodding along. Time to go.

"Shall we get started?" he asks rhetorically. Then, to kick things off, he puts Beckett on the spot to compel her to engage. But, considering the concerns he's just discussed with her, he offers a different path than what she probably expected. "Kate, why did you first suggest to me that we invite Rick to join one of our sessions?"

Beckett blinks at the question. It takes her a few moments to frame an answer. Castle's agitation at her side doesn't help – it looks like he's uncomfortable with her being put on the spot and is thinking about interjecting.

"The anger," she offers quickly, forestalling any thought by her partner to interrupt. "First it was the anger, then it was the bruises."

Castle's look of concern is quickly replaced with one of defensiveness. "That was supposed to stay private," he offers unhappily.

"I broke my promise, Castle," Beckett answers immediately. "I was worried. I talked about it with Dr. Burke. Not that it matters," she offers vaguely before looking away from her partner.

"Before we explore that comment," Dr. Burke interjects to prevent Castle from seizing on her last words, "will you share what you asked me, Kate, before you learned of the bruises?"

"What?"

"You asked me to recommend counselors for your partner," he reminds her, concerned about what's occupying her thoughts and using 'partner' intentionally to reinforce this connection. "You knew that if you suggested he seek a counselor, Rick would inquire about your own therapy."

"Yeah," she replies uncomfortably.

"Why?" Dr. Burke asks. "You're an intensely private person, yet you were willing to reveal the fact of your therapy to Rick. Why?"

"Because my pride wasn't worth Castle's safety," she answers, annoyed by his focus on her.

"And has that…," the therapist starts to ask before Castle finally interrupts him.

"Hold on a second," Castle interjects. "If this is going to be a Q&A session after all," he says with an upturned brow, "shouldn't some of the questions be pointed at me?"

Dr. Burke is surprised by his comment, but Beckett is not. She's seen her partner play cute before, countless times. It's often been helpful, either distracting the boys or helping put a witness or suspect at ease. But not now. Now, it's inflammatory.

"Stop it, Castle," she spits out, turning in her seat on the couch to look at him. "Just stop it."

"Stop what?" he asks, honestly confused.

"Stop trying to protect me!" she shouts. Unable to sit still, she launches to her feet and starts pacing the office. "You sit there and you take shot after shot, Castle," she growls. "You drape yourself over me like a flak jacket and it's got to stop!"

Castle looks at her aghast, caught unawares by this burst of anger. After a few long, tense moments to ponder, though, his demeanor slides from confused to resigned.

"I'm sorry, Beckett," he apologizes, sounding oddly formal. "I didn't think we were here already. I'll step back," he offer vaguely, not clarifying in what context he'll desist – here or her life in general.

"Step back now?" she fires back as she stops her pacing. "When I'm only at 70 percent?"

She watches his face carefully as he ponders her comment, jumping in again after his eyes widen in realization. "That's right, Castle, I heard you. I heard it _all_ ," she growls, starting to prowl again. "So don't tell me you're not getting hurt trying to protect me. Dixon and women like her," she scorns, holding out a hand and raising a finger. "Your 'PT instructor' beating the hell out of you," she says, lifting another finger. "You," she adds while raising a third finger, "risking your neck by working on my case." Then, she brings her fingers together and uses them to tap on her chest, right above her scar. "Me," she says, sounding heartbroken, "just me being me."

"It's nothing I can't handle," he answers warily. He thought he knew where she was going with her complaint when she started, but including the two of them in the list of his tormentors blew that theory.

"But you shouldn't have to!" she rails again. "Don't you get it? _I'm not worth it!_ "

Her last comment casts a pall upon the room, leaving everyone frozen in place. Castle stares at Beckett as if he doesn't recognize her. Beckett herself has halted her pacing beside the window, out of which she stares resolutely. This is what's really destroyed her in the long hours since hearing his conversation with Gates. All he's done since she fled the city is take abuse, all of which seems to trace back to her in one way or another. She feels an acute responsibility for every bruise, every scar he's earned since her shooting.

Dr. Burke sits back in his chair, goggling at this declaration – either her partner is far more gifted at eliciting responses from her than he appreciated or Detective Beckett was far closer to an explosion during their private session than he realized. In either event, they're in unexpected territory. Instead of talking about what's happening to her partner, it sounds like his patient is internalizing the guilt from any harm that befalls Mr. Castle. She must know, he realizes far too late to be of use, what's happening to him. And whatever it is, it's something for which she's blaming herself. If this conversation goes poorly, he realizes in alarm, his patient may suffer a significant setback in her efforts to recover. He'd better…

"Of course you are," Castle says earnestly. "I don't understand how you don't see this, not when it's blindingly obvious," he tries to cajole, to no effect. "You've been wounded. I get that. But that doesn't change who you are, not inside. You're still the woman I've always known, Kate. You're extra…"

" _Don't_ ," Beckett interrupts, pinioning him with a look and an upraised hand. "Don't say it. It's not true and I'm tired of trying to live up to it. I've let everyone down," she confesses in a low voice. "I'm tired of letting you down, Castle."

"Kate…," Dr. Burke starts to speak before Castle rolls over him.

"You _know_ that's not right," Castle replies, his attention wholly focused on Beckett. "You were _shot_ , Beckett. _In the heart_. And here you are, five months later – back on duty, bringing justice to the bereft and working _so hard_ to heal. How is that not extraordinary?"

"You can't see me, Castle," she laments, turning back to the window. "Your… affection for me blinds you to the truth."

"You're wrong if you think my feelings for you make me blind to your faults, Beckett," Castle replies immediately and with a quiet defiance. "But, fine, take me out of the picture," he continues, resigned to a situation he expects to happen soon, perhaps even today. "You think your colleagues – the ones who respect and admire you – are blind, too? Espo, Ryan, Lanie, Roz, LT – the list is endless, Beckett."

"They don't know me," Beckett admits in a low tone. "I don't let them. They get bits and pieces, only what I want them to see. They don't know about…," she trails off as the misplaced shame she carries due to her PTSD again wells up.

Castle can tell she's holding something back. He turns to Dr. Burke, who gives only a concerned look in response, his comments bound by his professional obligations to his patient. But his withholding confirms for Castle that there's something deeper at play here, something that's been the subject of Beckett's therapy sessions. He may be facing the end of his welcome on her team sooner than he thought, but he'll be damned if he leaves while she's feeling like this.

" _I know you_ ," he answers with quiet passion. "I've known you from the beginning. That's why I fought my way into the precinct. That's why I've stayed."

"You stayed because of Nikki," Beckett replies, though she knows that's not right. She suspects, strongly, that at some point his writing became an excuse for his continuing presence at the precinct. It's not a theory she ever voiced for fear that the resulting attention might presage his departure. "I can't be Nikki anymore," she admits, feeling weak. "Nikki's extraordinary, Castle, not me."

Dr. Burke looks like he's going to speak but Castle halts him with a raised hand. "Hold on," he says firmly, trying to pause the conversation. "You know Nikki is fictional, right?" he asks, getting an angry eye roll in reply.

"Obviously," Beckett scoffs. "You're a gifted writer, Castle, you always have been. You don't need inspiration to create incredible characters. And you don't need me."

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks, astonished. "Why are you my muse, Beckett?" he asks directly, pausing and staring at her to reinforce his hopes for an answer.

"Kate?" Dr. Burke prompts when Beckett remains silent. He's not sure about this line of inquiry, but his patient seems to be struggling and Mr. Castle seems to be driving the conversation toward something that might help.

"Because you wanted me," she answers, cheeks radiant and head falling. "At first, you wanted to sleep with me," she manages to mutter through her discomfort. "And then you wanted to love me."

"Both true," Castle admits, shocking everyone in the room with his forthright declaration. "Except for your use of the past-tense. I still want those things, even if you don't feel the same way. But that's not why you inspire Nikki."

Comically, Beckett and Dr. Burke trade confused looks, prompting a sigh from Castle. "What would've happened," Castle postulates, "if I'd written the same books and the same character but had someone like Hastings as my muse?" he asks rhetorically. "She's an impressive officer, what happened the other day notwithstanding. She's attractive, too, and destined for promotion. So, why not her?"

Beckett remains quiet, brows knit as she wonders where Castle's going with this.

"She would've crumbled," Caste answers, sounding sad and resigned. "Inspiring a character isn't enough, not if the disparity between the real and the fictional is too great. That's why it's you, Beckett, why it could only ever be you," he explains, begging her to understand. "If Nikki were real, she'd run rings around Hastings or anyone else," he says before pausing to let this thought sink in.

"Anyone except you," he concludes with certainty. "I know it. Your colleagues know it. And if you don't know it," he ends with a teasing note, "then it might be the only thing you actually did forget because of your shooting."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Castle's challenge seems to quiet the room again. Beckett's thinking furiously about what she's heard. She seemed to ignore his attempt at levity, but she looks less closed-off, less severe. It's enough of an improvement to encourage Dr. Burke to hold his tongue while she thinks. Which might be a mistake.

"This isn't working," Beckett finally asserts, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're supposed to be talking about you, not my mess."

"Okay," Castle agrees, though he looks queasy about submitting himself to examination by both Beckett and her therapist. "Fire away."

"No," Beckett replies, just as Dr. Burke was preparing to ask a question. "This isn't the right way, not the right place. I should've seen that," Beckett says while chastising herself.

"What would you like to change?" Dr. Burke asks, curious about the conclusions his patient seems to have reached. "I'm happy to reschedule and to consider alternate locations if you think…"

"No," Beckett interjects, again interrupting her therapist. "I need to think," she says vaguely, making it clear she's already lost in thought. Moving from her place by the window, she starts to drift toward the door. Both men watch her warily, not sure what she's thinking about.

Her hand's just reached the doorknob when she turns in place. "Castle?" she calls out tentatively. "Will you meet me at the precinct tonight at 9:00?"

"Of course," he replies immediately, so happy with her brief effort to engage that he doesn't really care to what he's agreed. "9:00 sharp."

Beckett gives a small nod then ghosts from the room, closing the door behind her.

Both Castle and Dr. Burke stare at the door for several long moments following her departure, wondering about this turn of events. It's Castle who finally breaks the silence by turning back to the therapist.

"I'm new to this kind of therapy," he prefaces, "but what the hell just happened? Was that a good session?" he asks in quiet confusion. "Because it sure didn't feel like it."

Dr. Burke remains quiet for a brief interval, pondering the same question himself.

"I'm sure you know, Rick, I can't share any details of Kate's sessions with you," he begins, pulling a resigned nod from his patient's partner. "Regardless of how important you are to her," he adds in slight encouragement, "my ethical requirements are inviolable."

"I suppose that's a good thing," Castle allows, scrubbing a hand through his hair and missing Burke's quirked head in reply. "I'm glad she's got a professional to help her."

Dr. Burke nods at the compliment, feeling more pleased than he knows he should. But Mr. Castle's been obviously uncomfortable with the idea of therapy, so any praise from him is welcomed.

"However," the therapist offers, "I am able to talk about the reason you were invited to join us today."

Castle looks longingly at the door before steeling himself and turning back to face Dr. Burke. "Will it help Beckett?" he asks, still wary. Then, in reply to the therapist's nod, he capitulates. "Then I'm in. Do your worst," he challenges weakly, raising his arms to signal his surrender.

"It's nothing onerous, I promise," Dr. Burke replies with a smile. He might think it's his open manner that causes Castle to relax by a degree, but it's really how similarly his words match Darlene's that eases Castle's concerns. "Surely you know Detective Beckett is a very accomplished detective."

"Accomplished enough to know my name's not Shirley," Castle mumbles in reply, wearing a small smirk. "Sorry," he adds at Dr. Burke's look of confusion, "old joke. Beckett's the best. That's all you need to say."

"So it shouldn't surprise you to learn," the therapist continues, "she observed things about you. The bruises, which were obvious, but the changes in your demeanor, which were less so."

"Changes in my demeanor?"

"Anger, aggressiveness," Dr. Burke states, though his tone sounds like a question. "Perhaps even acquiescence to an authority figure during a time of physical struggle?" he suggests, recalling Detective Beckett's description of how quickly Mr. Castle released the suspect he'd pinned.

Surprised, Castle nods, admitting the accuracy of the insights.

"I suspect you presented Detective Beckett with what she wanted most," Dr. Burke postulates, schooling his features to avoid reacting to Castle's look of sad disbelief. "A mystery. She had something different, something outside herself, on which to focus. Such a development can be useful," the therapist suggests. "Patients can benefit from external considerations – they provide a welcomed respite and a contextualizing device, something that allows them a barometer against which to compare their own efforts and progress."

"You're picking your words very carefully," Castle observes, looking appraisingly at the therapist. "The conditionality of your syntax suggests this could also be a bad thing for Bec… patients," he corrects himself, trying to keep the discussion to general concepts.

Dr. Burke nods in reply, acknowledging the point. "True," he admits freely, smiling slightly at the novelty of speaking with an author. "An external development can also prove troublesome. It can become a crutch or even fully displace the matter that should be receiving more consideration."

"A procrastination device," Castle suggests, following this line of thought. "I'm kind of familiar with those," he admits in an attempt to be humorous before clamping his mouth shut after realizing he confessed something personal to a therapist.

"Don't be alarmed, Rick," Dr. Burke offers with another small smile. "We'll remain focused on our current objective, though my door's always open if you'd like to explore other topics," he says with a nod, grinning at Castle's quick head-shake.

"We'll leave my Peter Pan complex for another day," Castle offers quickly. "I've got more pressing concerns."

"As have I," Dr. Burke agrees, the smile dropping from his face. "Returning to the topic of our discussion, there is a further speculation that might render the situation even more volatile," he offers speculatively before pausing to consider how to broach this topic. "Imagine that a patient focused on an external consideration, a problem that's deeply affecting a close friend."

Dr. Burke trails off, waiting for Castle's nod before continuing.

"Now imagine the problem appears to be physical – the close friend is being harmed while saying nothing, perhaps in deference to the challenges already facing the patient."

Castle nods again, looking increasingly concerned.

"Now," Dr. Burke says gravely, "imagine the patient learns this isn't an external consideration after all, that the harm befalling the friend results from the same issues the patient was already attempting to overcome."

Heartbroken and scared, Castle can't manage a nod.

"That is my fear," Dr. Burke confides. "In such a situation, what had been a coping device instead becomes an instrument of guilt, something that magnifies the underlying, original concerns."

"A weight," Castle infers miserably, "instead of a raft. Tossed to someone who was already fighting to keep her head above water."

"This is only a fear, Rick, a possibility," Dr. Burke tries to remind him. "Patients face myriad challenges. But they are often strong, often resilient. Many times, my job is simply to help them on a path they've already identified. Even in those cases, though, it's important to protect against additional challenges."

"How?" Castle asks immediately, his desperation to help his partner obvious in his plea. "What do I do?"

"You have an appointment tonight at 9:00," Dr. Burke reminds him, glancing at the clock to reinforce the point. "Without her consent, I cannot address specific concerns that might arise during your discussion, though I am at your disposal. Failing that," he says as he turns to his desk to withdraw a notepad before breaking one of his professional rules and jotting his personal cell-phone number on a piece he hands to Castle, "you are welcome to call me at home should you need any assistance this evening. And in any event," he continues, his own concern for this situation apparent in his tone despite his years of practice, "I hope Kate will consent to trying another joint session. As soon as possible."

Castle stares at the paper in his hand, his suspicions about how significant a diversion this is from standard protocol already apparent. He mulls his options for several long minutes before finally mustering a sigh. Standing, he extends a hand. "Thank you, Dr. Burke. For your counsel today and your willingness to help," he says gratefully. "And especially for helping Beckett. It's good to know she's got someone to help her."

"I'm not the only one," Dr. Burke replies, shaking Castle's hand warmly as he tries to convey his best wishes and hopes for tonight's meeting.

* * *

"You heading to the gym tonight?" Alexis asks from the door to Castle's office. She startled him, drifting in when he was lost in thought about how to talk to Beckett tonight. In the moment it takes to collect himself, he thinks about lying to his daughter. After all, his gym bag's right here next to his desk. She's used to seeing him head out for sessions with his new personal trainer. A simple 'yes' and he could avoid the conflict he's sure is brewing.

He's ashamed at the impulse. He _knows_ better. This is his daughter, the young woman he's worked so hard to raise well. She deserves the truth about what's going on, even if it's uncomfortable. Besides, he tells himself as he prepares to explain, starting this evening with craven, expedient lies wouldn't exactly put him in a good place for his talk with Beckett.

"Maybe afterwards," he answers. Standing, he steps around his desk and reaches out for her hand before leading her to the couch. She follows wordlessly, well aware that her father is preparing for a serious discussion.

"I'm going to the precinct to talk with Beckett," he answers. Watching her eyes saddens him, as he's able to track through the hardening of her gaze and the flexing of her jaw muscles his daughter's thoughts on this plan.

"Talk?" she asks pointedly. "So, this isn't about a case?"

"No," he answers, remaining honest. "We need to talk about our partnership. Figure out what's going on," he tries to explain, though his shrug makes his confusion plain.

"What does that mean?" Alexis asks, seizing on his uncertainty. "Are you fighting?"

"We're still trying to recover from what happened this summer…," he begins to answer before his daughter interrupts him.

"When she got shot or when she ran away and abandoned you?"

"Both," Castle answers, defusing the question with more raw honesty. "Things have changed. We need to figure out how to make things work as she recovers."

"What does she want?" Alexis asks, continuing her interrogation.

"We _both_ want the same thing," Castle answers, amending her question. "For Beckett to heal."

"That's not all you want," his daughter replies with a sad, knowing look.

"It's all that matters," he answers with a shrug.

Alexis looks like she's ready to fire off another question until she pauses to study her father. It's an odd moment of realization for her. His love for his partner is obvious, has been for a while. It's the reason she can't forgive the detective. One call, one text, one letter. That's all it would've taken to put him out of his misery. Instead, Beckett was weak and cruel, disappearing without a word and consigning Castle to a limbo of depression and guilt.

She's ashamed to realize she'd let Beckett's cowardice taint her view of her father. He's got horrible taste in women, that can't be denied after yet another object of his affection treated him miserably. She's disheartened to realize she'd let her opinion of him fall by faulting him for his depression, his inability to just get over the detective. But, sitting here now, she can hear the truth in his words. He really just wants her to be well. Whatever else he wants – wanted – it's forgotten in his desire to see her heal.

"You're a good man, Dad," Alexis proclaims, eyes glassy as she stretches to hug him. "I will be a very lucky girl if I can find someone who loves half as purely as you."

"You will, Pumpkin," he assures, voice thick with tears as he wraps her tight. "You make it so easy."

They sit in silent communion for several minutes before Alexis set them on track. "Take your gym bag," she suggests, wiping her eyes. "Working out helped you this summer, right? Maybe it'll help tonight," she suggests, feeling a little silly. "But wake me up if you want to talk, okay?" she asks, lowering her hand to grasp his. "Promise?"

"You're not doing much for my confidence here, kid," he grumbles, pulling a small laugh from his girl. "Tonight's not necessarily going to be a disaster. But how about this – ice cream tonight or waffles in the morning. I'll wake you for one or the other."

"Perfect," she answers, standing and pulling on her father's hands to help him rise. Dropping his hands, she smooths the shoulders and lapels of his jacket before leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Be well, Daddy. I love you."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Castle takes a long, fortifying breath as his cab slows to a stop in front of the precinct. He'd finally given up waiting at home, unable to sit still and worried his mother would arrive and offer her advice on the situation, too. So, he grabbed his gym bag and departed, catching a cab that must know some secret route or wormhole that's delivered him to the precinct so quickly.

He's still closing the door to the cab when he hears Beckett call his name. She's standing outside the building, waiting in an alcove near the door. She looks nervous, too. He's glad to see it – her anxiousness is less worrying than her mood at Dr. Burke's office and probably implies some uncertainty on her part. If she called him here to kick him out, she'd look more resolved. Right?

"Hey, Beckett," Castle returns carefully, striding towards her. She spins and holds the door open as she greets him in return, her voice just as wary as was his.

"Thanks for meeting me here," she manages to say, treading carefully. Her tone is odd and her attention seems unduly focused on his gym bag.

Thankfully, the desk sergeant offers a welcome distraction from their tense greeting.

"Evening, Detective," he nods to Beckett before turning his head and smiling and offering a fist to bump. "Good to see you, Castle."

"Hey, Rex," Castle greets with a smirk, moving to bump fists but stopping just short for a moment before finally closing the gap to tap hands. The desk sergeant laughs and chuffs out a murmured "Asshole" that's still loud enough for Beckett to hear, though she pretends otherwise as she hits the elevator call button.

"Don't mess with Castle in the elevator, Detective," the sergeant calls out as the partners enter the elevator and the doors begin to slide closed. "He'll kick your ass!"

Castle's head falls as the elevator begins to rise. "So much for privacy," he mumbles. "I suppose everyone's seen the tape?"

His comment surprises Beckett. It's unlike him to be shy, especially about something like this. She can still remember his enthusiastic crowing about disarming Tisdale on their first case together. Perhaps his discomfort is about expectations – it's easy to surprise people when they expect little. But that doesn't seem right, either.

"I think Gates encouraged distribution of the tape," Beckett speculates, providing some answers for her partner even if she doesn't yet know what's bothering him. "She certainly didn't discourage it – I saw several people watching it on their computers, and Ryan said some of the guys were talking about it."

"Fabulous," Castle grouses, leaning against the back of the elevator and lifting his head to look at the ceiling.

"I think she was trying to be kind," Beckett offers. "You were amazing in here," she says, gesturing at the enclosed space. "For all the trouble she's given you, I think this is a way of apologizing. Of letting people see you're more than just an observer, letting them see how capable you are."

Castle purses his mouth but doesn't otherwise answer. She's about to follow up when they arrive on the Homicide floor, where Beckett's forced to reveal her intentions for their meeting. "Will you hold the elevator? I just need to grab something from my desk before we head down."

Castle looks confused and wary, but he acquiesces. Beckett strides from the elevator to her desk, where she unlocks a drawer and withdraws a gym bag of her own. With a quick wave to a few of the unlucky souls who drew the night shift, she's back to the elevator in moments.

"What's going on?" Castle asks as Beckett presses the button for the basement.

"I think you were right, Castle," she offers, though she's looking down rather than at her partner. "Psychological therapy wasn't working, not for this. Time for some physical therapy."

"You've got to be joking," he offers. Beckett doesn't look up and she doesn't answer. "Here? In the precinct?"

Beckett shrugs. "Better here than Burke's office."

"Not sure about that," Castle replies, thinking about the set-up, "not when neither one of us want to be here."

"What do you mean?" she asks, uncomfortable with his insight.

"You weren't even comfortable going straight down to the locker room," he suddenly realizes. "You didn't want O'Halloran to see us going down in the elevator," he theorizes, mentioning the desk sergeant. "You could've had your bag with you or down in the locker room. But instead we went up to Homicide."

"People talk," she answers with a huff. "It bothers me even if it doesn't bother you."

"It does bother me," he parries in response. "Running off to spend time where you and Demming bonded?" he asks in reply. "Not exactly at the top of my to-do list."

There's no way to get into that topic without starting a discussion they can't have in the elevator. So, Beckett waits, holding her comments even when they arrive in the basement. As they exit the elevator, though, Castle turns away from the locker room.

Beckett assumes he's leaving when he heads up the stairs and pushes through the door that leads out to the alley next to the precinct. Still, she follows. Beckett remains silent even when he hails a cab, waiting to see if he signals for her to join him or instead departs.

Castle remains quiet while holding the taxi's door open for her and then joining her inside. Other than providing an address she doesn't recognize, he maintains his silence. It's unnerving, Beckett realizes. As she did when she took him home after the attempted kidnapping, she realizes how difficult it is to fill the air as he so often does. But the quiet is growing oppressive, impeding her own thoughts about their upcoming talk, so she asks the first thing that pops into her mind.

"Why Rex?" she asks. "You called O'Halloran 'Rex,' but his name's Brian. Isn't it?" she asks, realizing she's actually not sure.

Castle remains quiet while staring out the side window. She assumes he's ignoring her until he speaks without turning to face her. "It's short for Tyrannosaurus Rex," he explains quietly.

"Because…," Beckett prompts, wondering if there's some joke about O'Halloran's ferocity or eating habits at the heart of his nickname. It's got to be something like that to explain his teasing reaction.

"Gates isn't fond of him. We've got that in common," he prefaces quietly. "But in his case, it's because he keeps breaking the dress code. 'Looking unprofessional,' according to Gates."

Beckett makes an inquisitive noise rather than articulating her disbelief. It seems like a petty concern. But it also seems like a silly thing over which to invite Gates' wrath.

"Have you ever seen O'Halloran without his sleeves rolled up?" Castle asks rhetorically, not waiting for a reply. "He's got itty-bitty T. Rex arms," Castle explains, not looking at Beckett but still drawing his elbows to his side and flailing his hands in front of him. "Any shirt broad enough to span his shoulders has sleeves so long the cuffs cover half his hands. So he rolls his sleeves. He does the same thing out of uniform. I noticed it at the bar and gave him some trouble about it."

"The Old Haunt?" Beckett asks, imagining Castle tending bar for officers from the Twelfth.

"No, just drinks after work," he answers with a shrug, acting as if going out for beers with other cops is a regular thing. Actually, she realizes, maybe it is. Like his encounter with Dixon, this is just one more example of the life Castle's managed to create for himself at the precinct, one more example of what Beckett hadn't noticed about her partner. It's additional context for his comment to Gates about how being at the precinct has become a 'central part of his life.' And, she reminds herself, it's one more thing from which he was cut off while she was away and Gates had kicked him out.

Her ruminations are interrupted by the end of their taxi ride. Castle pays the cabbie before leading Beckett toward a nondescript, warehouse-style office building. He unlocks the door to admit them to the building, then leads her to an old-fashioned freight elevator. Dropping his bag, he's forced to use both hands to pull back the accordion-style fenced door. She waits for the joke about this being the first part of the workout, but it never arrives. Instead, Castle gestures for her to enter the elevator before wrenching the grate closed again. The elevator creaks upward until Castle repeats the process to release them onto the sixth floor.

The elevator deposited them in a dimly-lit open-plan space that easily rivals the size of the Homicide floor back at the Twelfth. There's an elevated sparring ring in the center, the floor cushioned to help take the sting out of falls. Different stations encircle the ring, including heavy and speed bags, free weights, a few cardio machines, and, oddly, a weapons rack featuring a collection of staves, swords, spears, and a few more exotic instruments she doesn't recognize despite their obvious lethality. "Changing room," he says while pointing to a door in the corner, before heading toward a different door.

Like the rest of this facility, it's obvious the changing room used to be an office or something similar, but it has the requisite amenities. Beckett changes quickly before exiting to meet Castle. She's a little unnerved by the building and his familiarity here, but she asked for this session so she'll go along.

Castle's already managed to change and turn on the lights by the time she emerges. He's standing in front of the rack apparently surveying the devices, though she recognizes that he's lost in thought. Her approach jars him back to the present. Dropping his bag and turning in place, he makes a sweeping gesture. "Here we are, Detective. What kind of PT did you have in mind?"

"We're going to spar," she answers definitively, happy to get her plan for the evening back on track. "You're gonna show me what you've learned."

"I don't think so, Beckett," he replies, shaking his head. "We fight enough already. We don't need new ways to hurt each other."

Ouch, she thinks, first touch goes to Castle. "Suit up, partner," she challenges instead, walking toward the ring. "You usually wear headgear and sparring mitts, right? That's why the bruises don't extend to your hands, neck, or face."

"' _Not a word_ ' doesn't seem to have sunk in," Castle complains, standing his ground. "Me, Dr. Burke – I suppose you told Ryan and Espo about my battle wounds, too?" he asks facetiously.

"I did, actually," she answers immediately, recognizing the rare but telltale signs of his anger. "When we saw the tape from the elevator we tried to figure out how you learned to take care of yourself. I was thinking out loud, wondering if the bruises were remnants of training sessions."

"Thanks," Castle replies sarcastically. "So nice to know how closely you guarded my secret."

"I guess I stink at keeping secrets," she replies with an affected shrug that's designed to goad him as much as her words. "Whether they start at crime scenes or cemeteries."

Ouch, Castle thinks. Apparently they're not waiting until they get in the ring to let the shots start flying. "You're not going to goad me into sparring, Beckett."

"What's the matter, Castle?" she asks, her own mounting anger making her challenge more of a taunt. "You scared?" she asks, studying his face for any reaction. When he gives her nothing, she pushes harder. "You _are_ scared. Not of getting hurt. You're scared of harming your poor, frail partner, aren't you? The broken woman who's just…"

" _Stop it_ ," Castle growls in reply. "Just stop it. You're not frail or broken."

"Prove it," she challenges in reply before turning on her heel and striding over to the shelf next to the ring, pulling out protective head gear and mitts.

With another growl, Castle follows. He approaches without a word, batting her hand that'd reached for head gear and instead pointing further down the shelf to one that'll be the right size. He reinforces his familiarity with the setup by grabbing the gear he usually wears and strapping up quickly.

They still haven't spoken by the time they've finished donning the protective gear. Each is lost in thought, and from the signs of tension it looks like each is nursing wounds or preparing to raise the issues that bother them most. By unspoken agreement, this evening seems to be their defining moment, the point at which they either figure out how to go forward or go their separate ways.

Castle walks the few short steps up to the ring. Stopping on the top step, he steps on one of the ropes that surrounds the ring and lifts the one above it, providing a gap for Beckett to step through. The simple, silent act reminds her of how they are at crime scenes, with Castle stepping ahead to lift the yellow police cordon for her. She shakes her head, driving away the distraction even as she wonders if she should instead be focusing on those memories.

Moments later, they're facing each other in the middle of the ring. Now that they're here, Beckett's not sure how to get things started. Then she remembers Castle's words from the surveillance tape, the ones that caused enough fear and anger to match the anguish and affection. She holds both hands out, looking pointedly at her partner to get him to tap their gloves to start their session.

"You're working on my case," she opens accusingly, as soon as his mitts tap hers. Dropping into a defensive stance, she surveys her partner. "You never stopped," she says while taking a jab at his mid-section.

Castle blocks her jab but remains quiet. Instead, he shifts his feet into a fighting stance, bouncing on his knees to limber up.

"You're probably working on mom's case, too," she accuses, feinting a jab before launching a kick. He blocks her again, but again doesn't follow up with a strike of his own. Instead, he holds his ground. And his tongue.

" _So_?" she pokes, launching an arcing roundhouse that he avoids with a surprisingly light side-step. "Talk, dammit!" she growls, dodging to the side in a vain effort to land a kidney shot. "For three years I can't get you to shut up and now you won't talk?" she complains, darting around him in the ring.

"I'm a slow learner," Castle finally replies with a small shrug and a large smirk.

Though she knows his reply was designed to set her off, Beckett can't stop herself. All the stress, worry, and confusion that's been swirling in her mind since she listened to the surveillance tape finally ignites. She throws herself at him, leading with a punishing flurry of punches and kicks that uses every trick she's learned from the academy through her sessions with Espo. And any deficit caused by her physical recuperation is more than replaced with pure emotion.

Of her opening salvo, not a single blow lands true. Castle blocks, dodges, and weaves. He absorbs some glancing blows but openly ignores every opening for a counterstrike. The ferocity of Beckett's assault ramps up as she recognizes his restraint, either because she's not worried about playing defense or because she's pushing to the point of forcing him to fully engage.

After several long minutes she's panting in exertion, realizing far too late that she's pushing herself too hard. Her scars throb, stealing energy and breath as she continues to lash out. If this was a real fight she'd be dead, she realizes bitterly. Castle stands before her, nearly untouched and still fresh. If he decided to start swinging now she knows she'd lack the energy to fend him off.

"Hit me!" she yells, nearly begging. "I want you to hit me!"

"No," Castle vows, again blocking her punch before spinning to avoid her kick. " _Never_."

"You hit blondie," Beckett reminds him of the elevator scene, taking the opportunity to circle him in the ring to try to catch her breath. "What's the matter," she asks with another verbal and physical jab, "you think I'm not strong enough?"

"Beckett…," Castle starts speak before she cuts him off.

"Your feeble partner," she charges, going on the offensive again, "too broken and brittle to manage for herself?"

"You're being ridiculous," he offers while knocking aside another strike.

"I'm being honest," she replies, swiping ineffectually at her cheeks with the sparring mitts. As much as she wants to think it's sweat that's starting to blur her vision and make it even more difficult to focus on Castle, she knows better. Apparently choking on frustration from her physical and emotional inadequacies isn't sufficient, she laments pathetically, but now she's actually going to cry in front of her partner. Yeah, _now_ he'll believe she's strong.

"Why won't you hit me?!" she pleads, taking swings that are increasingly sloppy and exhausted. "You're supposed to hit me," she groans, flailing so much that she doesn't notice Castle lower his guard. "You're supposed to hurt me back," she sobs as her punches finally land on his chest, the blows falling repeatedly and with less force than Castle absorbed when a young Alexis threw an occasional tantrum.

Castle slowly reaches around his partner and draws her close as her arms fall to her sides in a heartbreaking combination of exhaustion, frustration, and shame. Saying nothing, he gathers her in and holds her tight to his chest as she sobs quietly.

* * *

A/N: I'd hoped to finish this story by tomorrow, but that's not looking likely. I'll post these chapters tonight, then get some rest. Far too early in the morning I'll be heading up to NYC to meet some other Castle fanfic authors for lunch. It's a long ride, so if I can stay awake I might manage to bring this story to a conclusion. More soon, I hope!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

As Beckett comes back to herself, she realizes Castle's shuffling them back to where they entered the ring. She can't tell how long they stood there while she broke down, but it feels like hours.

"Not the time to dance," she grouses for form's sake, though she's hoping he won't take her seriously.

"C'mon," he rumbles gently, still cradling her but knowing better than to do anything like sweep her off her feet. "There's a three-minute break between rounds," he jokes gently. "Didn't you hear the bell?"

"Lucky for you," she mumbles, still exhausted and embarrassed and thankful beyond words he's giving them a light conversation to distract from her embarrassing breakdown. "I had you on the ropes."

"That's been true since the beginning," Castle admits quietly before stepping away to again part the ropes and allow her to step through easily. After they walk down the few stairs from the ring, he leads her to the equipment rack and silently removes their gear. Then, taking her hand again, he leads her toward the back corner opposite her changing room. She's surprised, though she realizes she shouldn't be, to see a small kitchenette. Everything's on one side of the small space since the construction to remove the walls stole what was probably cabinetry, but it looks like it has the essentials.

After guiding her to a bench seat next to the window, Castle steps away to open the refrigerator. The door blocks her view, but the mystery of his errand is shortly revealed as he approaches with a bottle of cold water in one hand and a gel icepack in the other.

"I think you'd better do the honors," he offers with a nod toward her chest as he extends the icepack. God bless him, Beckett thinks as the promise of numbing the throbbing pain over her scar erases any sense of decorum. But as she reaches out, she covers his hand rather than the icepack. It's a small gesture of thanks, of connection, but it's what she can offer now and she knows he'll recognize and appreciate it.

Ready to make a joke about the indecent sigh that would result when the icepack reached its destination, Castle swallows his comment. Because the noises Beckett releases when the pack covers her chest are not at all erotic or lusty. There's no mistaking a sigh that releases pain. And the last thing he's going to do is call attention to his partner's decision to let go of some of her pain. She's exhausted enough that she doesn't manage to hide her grimace, either, her closed eyes and the lines etched on her face testament to her suffering and long struggle toward recovery. He hopes, desperately, that the emotional release from their sparring session is worth the additional physical pain it created.

With considerable uncertainty, Castle takes a seat on the bench next to her as he opens the bottle of water for her. "Lean forward," he requests as he hands her the water, deciding to go all-in. Oddly, Beckett is quietly compliant, leaning forward enough to allow him to slip an arm over her shoulder. Still quiet, she turns slightly in her seat so that her head nestles into his shoulder. It angles her away from him slightly but increases their physical connection. It also allows them to speak without looking at each other, Castle realizes, which might make their conversation a little easier, whichever way it's going to go.

"I'm sorry, Castle," Beckett whispers a few minutes later, her eyes still closed and icepack still resting over her heart. "I'm so, so sorry."

The temptation to make a joke is nearly overwhelming, but he refrains. Tonight's about raw, emotional honesty. So, instead, all Castle emits is a long, slow sigh. Beckett doesn't reply immediately. She, too, recognizes the sound of released pain.

"I'm sorry I didn't call," she clarifies. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry you're getting hurt because of me." She pauses for a moment, collecting her strength and appreciating the steady rise and fall of his chest she can feel on her back. "And I'm sorry I didn't have the courage to admit that I heard you."

Castle nods but remains quiet while he collects his thoughts. He desperately wants to know why – why she fled without a word, why she lied about his confession, why she was so vague when they talked on the swings before his return to the precinct. But he chokes those questions down, trying to be the better man he's glimpsed in his time with her. She needs help right now, not an interrogation. The answers to those question don't matter if she doesn't heal.

"What can I do, Beckett?" he asks. "How can I help you?"

"Can you forgive me?" she answers in a low tone. "I haven't been good to you, Castle. Not for a long time."

"You didn't ask me to invade your life," he answers, moving her head with his light shrug. "In fact, you were pretty clear about your thoughts on the subject," he adds with a lilt in his voice. "But you were good enough to let me be your partner."

"You're more than that," Beckett corrects him, voice still quiet. " _We're_ more than that. And I want us to be even more," she confesses in a whisper. "But I don't understand why you want that. All I've done is cause you pain, Rick. Either I hurt you or you get hurt because of me."

"Hey," he chastises lightly, " _I'm_ the egotistical one in this partnership. It's not all about you, Beckett."

"And it's not all about you, either," she answers, finally opening her eyes and craning her neck to look into his eyes. "You're not responsible for what happened to me. You saved me."

"No," Castle rejects immediately, shaking his head as if trying to fling memories from his head. "I didn't. Trust me, Beckett, I didn't save you. I've never felt so impotent in my life."

Now it's Beckett's turn to avoid the easy shot, throwing a cheap joke in Castle's direction based on his word choice. But she, too, avoids temptation. In fact, she theorizes, he wouldn't have used that word unless he's being utterly serious.

"I could tell you that your words meant everything to me," she begins slowly, struggling with her confession. "I could tell you that they were my lifeline, my way back. It's true," she says, her voice breaking under the weight of her sincerity, "but I don't think you'd believe me. So, let's try this instead. What did you do when I tried to hit you in the ring?"

Castle's momentarily thrown by her question, so he pauses to think about it. "I reacted, I guess," he replies, not certain what she's expecting to hear.

"Exactly," she nods. "Now, what would you do if a two hundred pound man launched himself at you?"

"I'd move," Castle answers with a small huff. "Don't need any fancy training to know that."

"So what do you think I did when you threw yourself at me at Montgomery's funeral?" she asks quietly. "I flinched, Castle. A natural, untrained reaction. You know what the doctors said?" she asks rhetorically, regretting her words as the conjure images of Josh. "Millimeters. That's why I'm not dead. A tiny fraction of an inch and the shot would've been fatal. You might not've reached me before the bullet, but you made me react. And it saved my life."

Castle sits quietly and wonders about Beckett's theory. It's nonsense, really. Even if she moved, there's no telling in which direction. In fact, he might've endangered her _more_ with his sad attempt to protect her. But he knows better than to voice that possibility now, when she's so run down and trying so hard to make him feel better. "Maybe," he allows after a long breath. "But if so, I did a pretty poor job of it. Next time I'll be faster. Then we can skip the whole bloody, heart-stopping, dying declaration mess."

"There won't be a next time," Beckett answers to clear the slate before moving on to the other memories he raised.

"Yes," he interrupts with sad certainty, "there will be."

"Why?" Beckett asks in growing horror.

"Because you're not going to stop. They're still out there, Kate, the ones who killed your mother and tried to kill you," he confirms, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "They're out there and you won't stop until they're in jail or you're in the ground. So, yes, there will be a next time."

There's no point in arguing with her partner, Beckett realizes, because he's right. They've gone to insane lengths to silence her, which means they were worried about the investigation. And whatever her mother stumbled into, it's big – big enough to be well-financed and organized years later. So, perhaps not while she's recuperating and perhaps not before some planning, she's sure she'll take up the hunt again.

"Have you found anything?" she asks, letting them both skip the pointless questions about whether he's working on her case.

"In a way," Castle sighs, taking a deep breath to plow through his own confession. "There are factions. At least two – one trying to silence you and another blocking those attempts. There's supposedly a deal in place – your tormentors stop trying to kill you and your protector sits on some incriminating evidence he has on them. But the deal's off if you start investigating again."

The news hits Beckett like the punch Castle refused to throw. She doubles over, moving away from Castle to hunch in on herself as she tries to think of the dynamics in play. But it's no good – she's too exhausted, too raw to find an investigative handhold right now. The mystery of her case is too slippery to be grasped through such fatigue. So, in a move that shocks them both, she realizes she needs to let it be for tonight and straightens herself to lean against Castle once more.

"How do you know?" she asks, unable to at least collect a little more information.

"Untraceable phone calls," he answers. "From someone who claims to be a friend of Montgomery's. According to him, the only way I can keep you safe is to keep you off the case."

"Which you're pursuing in my place," she accuses without malice.

"Of course," Castle answers immediately. "I haven't found much, but it's all yours when you're ready."

"Really?" Beckett asks, challenging his motivation more than his words. "You're just going to set me loose?"

"You're a big girl, Beckett," Castle replies with a heavy sigh. "I couldn't stop you if I wanted to. And if you're going to go ahead, you need to be as ready as you can be."

"So, when will I be ready?" she asks, wondering if this is his game – moving the goalposts on her recovery so that it's always just a little bit longer before she can relaunch her investigation.

"When you can take me down," he answers, lifting a hand to point back at the ring. "If you're not strong enough to take down a celebutante writer, you won't be strong enough to uncover a conspiracy."

Well, that wasn't the test she was expecting. It's probably not a bad one, though, she muses. Her partner is surprisingly adept in the ring, so maybe he will be a good standard against which to measure her progress.

"You realize you'll have to fight back, right?" she asks, testing his faith in this plan.

"Not gonna happen, Beckett," he answers unequivocally. "The memory of me hitting you is one I will absolutely never allow."

"But you hit the woman in the elevator," she reminds him again, this time without the emotionalism.

"She was talking about killing me!" he answers indignantly.

"Oh, please," Beckett replies, trying to lighten the tone. "I probably do that every day."

"True," Castle allows, "but I think she actually meant it."

"Fine," Beckett allows. "You've obviously sparred against a woman, too," she speculates, thinking about how he squared off against her in the ring.

"I train with a woman," Castle answers. "You were wearing her gear. My instructor thought I'd be easy pickings for a pretty face," he admits with a huff, "and I needed to be ready for a different fighting style, so he matched us up," he explains. "She's quick as lightning, whether moving around the ring or swinging at me, and she kicks like a mule."

"I thought so," Beckett confesses, though she finds herself troubled by the thought of Castle spending a lot of time with a woman someone 'matched' him with. "Which means you're used to training with a woman. So why not me?"

"We both know gender isn't really the issue. I won't swing at you for the same reason I never considered spanking Alexis," Castle explains. "I will _never_ raise a hand to… the women in my life."

His course correction during his explanation was smooth but still obvious. His caution is pointless, though, since they both know what he was going to say. It's sweet, she supposes, but completely hypocritical.

"You won't harm the people you love," she says, surprising them both with her boldness, "but you'll let yourself be harmed because of them? How does that make any sense?"

"It's my job," he answers with a maddeningly simple shrug. "Father, son, partner – every identity entails providing whatever support I can."

"That doesn't make sense, Castle," Beckett answers, frustration starting to creep back into her tone. "Love shouldn't hurt," she offers, coloring immediately at least because of the topic, if not other feelings. "And it's self-defeating. How can I get stronger if you're always protecting me?" she asks, finally expressing something that's bothered her since their meeting in Dr. Burke's office. "And what's the point in my getting stronger if you're too hurt from protecting me?"

She can't see her partner's face from their current position, but she can practically feel his confusion. Now they'll see how direct they're going to be with each other tonight.

" _What's the point_?" Castle reacts to her comment. "What do you mean? You need to be strong, Beckett. It's who you are and who you need to be."

"Do you remember our conversation on the swings?" she asks quietly as they continue launching questions rather than answering them. "I'm not good at this, Castle. I'm not good at committing myself to someone else, not since mom. I'm not even good at _talking_ about committing myself," she laments in frustration. "But I'm trying."

"Kate, we're dealing with enough already," Castle tries to interject, providing her an out. "We don't need to…"

"So, I'm going to try again," she interrupts him, lacing her words with the confidence she doesn't feel. "You asked me what I meant. Here's what I mean, Rick: what's the point of getting stronger if you're not around once I get there?"

Her question steals the breath from her partner, leaving him gaping. He's not sure how long he sits on the uncomfortable bench wondering if he heard her correctly before he realizes he can just ask. "Beckett? What… I… are you…," he trails off, frustrated and discombobulated. Then, with a small head shake, he manages a simple question. "What are you saying?"

Beckett seems as nervous as he sounds, but she manages to piece together a reply by thinking back to their time in the ring. "I'm saying I _am_ broken, Castle. I'm weak and I'm scared. But I'm getting stronger. I want to get better, too," she adds meaningfully, inflecting the word to make it clear it's not just a synonym for healing but a hope for growth. "I'll get there, I promise I will. And when I do, I want you there. So don't you _dare_ think of leaving the precinct," she tries to challenge, before realizing how off-key it sounded. "Please, I mean. I don't want you to leave."

"Then I won't," he answers simply. "Just…," he trails off, wondering about how bold he's going to be tonight. "Just let me help?"

"You have been," she confirms quietly. "But you can help me best by taking care of yourself, Rick. I'm not sure if you're my reward or my next challenge, but I need you in one piece to find out," she whispers with a hint of a smile and her usual assertiveness.

That prompts a huff from Castle, who's happy to find himself juggling an unexpected bit of optimism. He tries to cling to that feeling as he thinks about her comment. But his smile dims as he thinks about her words and connects them back to what he heard back in her therapist's office.

"So," he asks with a sigh, clearly signaling his shift to another fraught topic, "why would you think I'd leave?"

"I heard you," Beckett repeats her confession. "I heard everything that happened to you after I left the precinct that day."

"Not just my conversation with Gates?" he asks in surprise. "I thought maybe you bugged her office," he says with a light shrug, trying out a ridiculous theory and growing still again when Beckett doesn't take the bait. "Kate?"

"It wasn't Gates' office that was wired," she confesses quietly. "It was you."

The implications strike Castle immediately and he's not happy. "Sit up, please," he requests in a tight voice, launching himself upward as soon as Beckett's movement frees his arm. He stalks around the makeshift gym as he thinks about what was said that day, from Dixon to Gates. He confessed everything, he realizes to his disgust. He thought it was all on the edge of collapsing anyway, and that maybe he could hold things together just a little longer if he reached some improbable accord with Gates.

To his great astonishment, that actually seems to have happened – he and the captain have a better understanding of each other. She's dropped some of her icy demeanor toward him and he's actually tried to avoid antagonizing her. But the words meant for her have apparently spread far wider.

He's unaware he paused in front of the heavy bags until he feels her tentative touch on his arm. "Want me to hold the bag?" she offers quietly. "Or maybe sparring sounds better now?"

Castle's so strung out after their long, emotional day that he's not sure how to react. So he doesn't. He stands in place, eyes looking past the gym equipment while he continues to think. Beckett maintains the peace, standing at his side and maintaining their connection with her hand on his arm.

"It was the boys, right?" he asks after long, silent, oppressive minutes. "Getting a good laugh out of Dixon, I suppose," he sighs as his head falls, his free arm lifting so he can pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Rick," Beckett starts, "I don't want to lie to you about this."

"I'm sure it's already made the rounds in the precinct, right, just like that damned video from the elevator? And now it's evidence," he rolls on in a disconsolate growl. "So every juror will get to hear it. And the judge. And the DA, the DA's office, and opposing counsel. Then," he continues, feeling queasy, "it'll go public. Assuming it's not leaked earlier, it'll be aired at trial," he realizes with a heavy sigh and a hand scraped through his hair. "Nice to keep these humiliations private."

"It's not evidence," Beckett corrects him quietly, "not yet. Only our team has heard it and only our team knows it exists. And if you decide so," she offers freely, fully aware of the legal implications of this option, "then it _doesn't_ exist."

Castle stands quietly for a moment, ruminating on the bizarre situation in which they've found themselves. Here stands Detective Kate Beckett, the inspiration for Nikki Heat. She's shown before that she's willing to operate with a certain independence, following the spirit if not the letter of the law, but this is different. His paragon for justice and professionalism just offered to aid and abet in the destruction of evidence of several felonies. But the alternative is to expose her partner to even more bad press and…

"Where is it?" he asks as the full dimensions of this dilemma become apparent.

"In my apartment, with mom's files," Beckett answers before offering a slight shrug. "Didn't seem like a good idea to bring it back to the precinct."

"I know it doesn't seem like it," Castle offers, his odd tone of voice and seeming shift to a new topic catching Beckett's attention, "but I promised myself back when we started that I wouldn't jeopardize your job. I let myself think I was actually helping, now and then, but I wasn't going to let my writing lark harm your career trajectory. At least not in a way that we couldn't fix with some intervention from friends or interested parties," he offers with a shrug, recalling some of his more dangerous actions over the years.

"But that's exactly what'll happen if that recording gets entered into evidence, isn't it?" he asks, finally turning to his partner to pin her with an inquisitive look. "You're going to say that you were behind the recording to protect the boys. You'll keep your job, maybe with a demotion," he muses aloud, watching her flinch, "but this would be a huge black mark, wouldn't it?"

"It doesn't matter," Beckett answer nobly, though they both know the repercussions for her career would be significant and maybe even insurmountable.

"Of course it matters," Castle rejects immediately. "Do you think you can find your mom's killer as a civilian?" he asks incredulously. "Do you think you can be _you_ without a badge? Maybe if you gave it up on your own, in exchange for a new direction. But not if it was taken from you."

Beckett wants to reject the idea but she can't. Losing her badge is unthinkable. Losing the reputation she's built so carefully since the terrible day that changed her life is just as appalling.

"So, either the evidence disappears, or…," Castle trails off, turning his head to look at the heavy bags again.

"Or?" Beckett prompts, wondering about where his thoughts have wandered.

"Or we say it was me. I take the fall."

* * *

A/N: I'd hoped to finish this story with one more chapter, but this one was getting too long, so I split it up. I would've held it until the next chapter is ready, but it's been so long since I posted that I thought I'd put this up. The surge in professional responsibilities from last week has abated so I'm hopeful that I can finish this story in the next week. I'd feel guiltier if there weren't such an abundance of great stories posting on the site these days.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Gates would go apoplectic," he muses while thinking about his fake confession, ignoring Beckett's recoil and vigorous head-shaking, "but I could be the lightning rod. If I _really_ sold it," he continues with a grim smile, taking some macabre pleasure in tracing out this thought experiment, "you know, play up the whole desire to record a day-in-the-life for my books, she might ignore everyone else to go after me."

"* _No*_ ," Beckett replies with such a fierce growl that he can't help an involuntary sidestep away from her. "Weren't you listening?! I need you to stop stepping in front of bullets for me," she nearly howls in frustration at this fresh example of his misplaced chivalry. "This isn't your mess to clean up."

"It not yours, either," Castle replies equably, making his own point. "I know you, Beckett. You weren't involved but you volunteered to take the hit. Why?"

"Because I can handle it," she grimaces in reply, seeing where he's taking this conversation but lacking the room to maneuver. "They'd lose their jobs. I can't let that happen."

"Ditto," he replies with a shrug. "And if I take the fall, my job's unaffected. It makes sense."

"Or we lose the evidence," Beckett answers, seeing no hopes for agreement on this aspect of the conversation. "We've got those four perps cold without the recording. The DA's got the film from the elevator, which shows the blonde woman pointing Hastings' gun at you even if there's no audio of her threats. No one would think to ask about other recordings."

"How is this not the worse option?" Castle replies. His nervous energy is mounting again and without anything with which to fidget, he starts to drift around the gym again. "We'd be subverting the system. Tomorrow, next week, next year – sometime the guilt from that would set in. Someday I'd look up and see that look in your eyes – regret, guilt, shame, and, ultimately, resentment. And that would kill me. It would kill us."

"No," Beckett answers slowly, staying a few steps within reach of her partner. But it's not her simple declaration that catches his attention but the quiet certainty of it. "I admitted long ago," she starts as if telling a story, "that there are flaws in the system. 'Random gang violence,' remember?" she asks, harkening back to the excuses bleated by the officers tasked with finding her mother's killer. "And then Roy… I've always known that there would be a time I'd have to decide whether to follow regulations or justice. _This_ isn't the choice I was expecting," she adds, waving a hand between them, "but it's an easier one to make."

"At what cost, Beckett?" he asks, scrubbing his hair again before turning back to her. "You'd seriously be willing to destroy evidence…"

"In a heartbeat," she interrupts fiercely. "I told you I want you there when I'm better, Castle. I need my partner."

Moved by her conviction, Castle stops his pacing and turns back to his partner yet again. "Then we erase it," he concludes heavily. "The four of us need to agree that it never existed in the first place," he emphasizes, though Beckett's already nodding. "And I want to listen to it, first."

* * *

He sighs in relief when she enters the all-night café nearly an hour later. They'd split up after their PT session – her to retrieve her cruiser from the precinct and the recording from her apartment, he to clean up after their 'workout.' After the breakdowns and painful confessions in what was already a very long day, he wasn't sure she'd be able to leave the quiet comfort of her apartment. But there she stands with a case in her hand.

Castle stands to catch her attention, offering a tentative smile. Her return greeting is equally timid, though she seems more centered than she'd been earlier. Perhaps their earlier conversation did some good, or perhaps it's the imminent elimination of the surveillance recording that has her more at ease.

The waitress appears just after Castle slides back into the booth. She surveys her patrons with casual disinterest, too tired at the beginning of a long night shift to be nosy.

"Two coffees, one order of fries, one chocolate and one strawberry milkshake, and two cheeseburgers, medium rare," Beckett rattles off before the waitress can even distribute the tattered, ketchup-stained menus. With a shrug, she turns back toward the kitchen without writing the order in her pad or waiting to see if Castle agreed.

"Guess you're hungry," he offers with a raised brow and curious tone.

"How long's it been since you've had a cheeseburger?" his partner ripostes, recalling his comments on the recording.

"A while," he offers with an overly-nonchalant shrug.

"Will you break your fast?" Beckett looks at him, making this a much more important conversation than just choosing a snack. "Please? I'm impressed by what you've accomplished since then," she offers, her eyes pinning him. "But I'm worried about the cost."

"Okay," Castle capitulates, surprising them both. "You'll have to help me work it off later…"

"At the gym," Beckett replies with a perched brow of her own. Her small smile recognizes the return of their banter more than the humor of his comment. His smile in return lets her know he's on the same page.

The waitress returns for a brief interruption, pouring two mugs of coffee and leaving the thermal container on their table for refills. She's again departed before Castle finishes nodding his thanks.

"Ready?" Beckett asks after he takes a sip of his coffee and winces. Apparently eager to get moving, she's already opening the case on the inside of her bench seat. After Castle's nod, she reaches into her pocketbook and retrieves two sets of headphones. She hands the nicer set to her partner, not so much for sound quality as for the long cord that covers the distance from her bench seat to him. After plugging in his set, set does the same for her more modest white Apple earbuds.

"It starts just before your, um, talk with Dixon," Beckett prefaces, reddening slightly and looking down. Aside from a pursed mouth, her partner offers no reaction.

"Does that happen often?" Beckett's mortified to hear herself ask as she watches her hand pause before starting the recording.

"More than usual lately," he replies with another shrug, trying to close down this topic. It's another deviation from his usual bravado on romantic topics, clearly showing his discomfort.

"I'm sorry," she replies quietly. "I should've realized…"

"It's fine," Castle interrupts in his mounting desire to move on. "Let's just listen to my fumbling, okay?"

She'd hardly consider it fumbling, but Beckett lets his remark go without comment. Following his request, she starts the recording, listening to the audio through her headphones while focusing on watching her partner's face.

It's a remarkably different experience listening to the surveillance tape again with Castle sitting in front of her. He blushes and looks uncomfortable during Dixon's effort to ask him out. And rather than comment or wiggle his eyebrows when she makes her comment about assuming he 'knows how to have a good time,' he drops his eyes to avoid her gaze.

Listening to the altercation in the elevator is different. He listens impassively as Eckes' crew drops Hastings in favor of taking him. Turning his wrist, he tracks the time between the blonde woman's final threat and his whiny "ow" after the fight, looking up and giving Beckett a playful shrug while rubbing his head.

Castle cringes in distaste at the sound of himself retching before his interview with Gates, though he looks no more pale now. Still, Beckett reaches out to stop the playback.

"Last chance," she offers. "If you want to listen to this alone, tell me now."

"You've already heard it," he replies with quirked lips and a light shrug.

"But not with you," she explains, feeling clumsy. "It'll be different with you."

"Oh, Beckett," he answers in a voice that suddenly sounds more playful. "To quote a good friend, 'you have no idea,'" he rumbles and gives her the enticing look she'd expected earlier. Ridiculously, she can feel herself blush. "Now," he continues before she can recover, "play the tape."

All playfulness is lost almost immediately as they begin to listen to Gates' conversation with Castle. She might as well be playing cards with him now, she realizes, for all the expression lacking in his impassive stare. He offers no reaction to any of the bombs that fall during the conversation – the reference to trauma reinforcing memories, his guilt about failing to protect her and stark depression at his summer of abandonment, his certainty that Beckett was preparing to cast him aside, the confession of his side project (including the glee with which he baited Gates), the dismay at learning that Beckett had attempted to banish him from the precinct, or the reference to his 'other options.'

Beckett startles at hearing herself moments later. She'd spent so much time worrying at what Castle discussed with Gates that she forgot the bug was still transmitting when that conversation ended. But Castle looks her in the eye when they hear her whisper "I was so worried," both of them recognizing the emotion in her voice. They stare at each other, each trying to see something in the look of the other, until the fumbling thumps on the recording provide aural evidence of Espo's retrieval of the surveillance device.

Castle removes his headphones just as the waitress returns with their order. Brusque as usual, she simply empties the tray on the middle of the table, leaving the partners to divvy up the milkshakes and fries. Glad of the distraction, Castle distributes the food while Beckett packs away the headphones.

Stopping before she closes the lid on the case, she looks up again and catches Castle's attention. "Are we going to…"

"Yes," Castle answers before she finishes the question. "I don't need to hear it again."

Beckett nods, then enters the command to wipe the memory. Then, she catches his attention by lifting the bug from the case and holding it carefully on her finger to allow Castle's inspection. After his grudgingly impressed nod at its small profile, Beckett returns it to the case. Next, she lifts a finger to her lips to signal for silence before turning on the speaker of her phone. Raising the volume of Coltrane's _Blue Train_ until the few other patrons cast them annoyed looks, she starts the bug recording again before putting her phone in the case and closing the lid.

"Recording over the top, just in case," she explains with a small smile. "We don't need Tory or anyone reconstructing the audio."

Castle nods, opting to pop a fry into his mouth rather than answer. Then, under her pointed look, he reaches for the cheeseburger.

He'd intended to take a small bite, the equivalent of a peck on the cheek of his favorite gastronomic mistress. But before he can stop himself he's opened wide, taking fully of the delight and freeing such an erotic moan at the explosion of taste that Beckett blushes on his behalf.

"Good?" she asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

"Even better than the first time," he moans in delight as Beckett's blush deepens while she thinks of other pleasures that he's apparently denied himself recently.

"So," she jumps in while shaking her head, desperate to distract them both with a different topic. "Was there anything in particular you wanted to hear?"

"Just the conversation," Castle answers after a Herculean swallow. "In Gates' office," he clarifies. "I kind of made things up as I went along. I wrote down what I could recall of our conversation later that night, but I wanted to make sure I had the details right. I had the words," he explains with a vague hand-gesture, "but I wanted to catch the tones."

Beckett nods along, thinking about other conversations where she would've liked the opportunity to go back and listen to herself. As particular examples of talks with her partner come to mind, though, she's suddenly glad for the absence of surveillance equipment. "The school's funniest kid" is already part of the soundtrack to her parade of regrets and she doesn't need to hear it in stereo.

"Can I ask a few questions?" Beckett ventures after a few nibbles to the cheeseburger she only ordered to keep Castle company. The unusually timid tone indicates better than words that these questions will stray into delicate territory.

"You can _ask_ ," he replies, inflecting the last word to let her know that he might not answer. "A few?"

Beckett nods, understanding the message. Since he's not pushing her for explanations on her selective memory or inability to control her team, she admits ruefully, she's hardly in a position to demand answers. So, she takes a few moments to formulate her questions. "Four?" she requests, getting a nod in return.

"Who asked you to pull me back?" she starts with a bang, instantly catching her partner's attention. "Back…," she trails off, chastising herself for trying to skirt the issue. "Before I made the terrible decision to ask Montgomery to kick you out," she confesses, "who asked you to rein me in?"

Castle looks at her while he chews slowly, no longer even tasting the beloved cheeseburger. Then, after a slight pause, he shakes his head.

"Was it Josh?" Beckett ventures, frustrated and regretful at bringing up his name. "Or was it my father?"

Castle reaches for his milkshake to provide some cover, but realizes immediately that he can't answer. He doesn't know Beckett's father well, but he knows that the relationship between father and daughter suffered when Jim fell into the bottle. The last thing he's going to do is volunteer information that might cause a rift.

"You heard my comment to Gates," he offers instead. "It doesn't matter who asked, I was already going to try to slow you down," he finishes with a sad shrug.

So it was dad, Beckett realizes. She's played with this mystery since hearing the tape, and those two are the only reasonable options. Castle's got no reason to protect Josh – the opposite, in fact, based on what she's heard about Josh's behavior at the hospital. But it seems more like her father – worried about her behavior but equally worried about jeopardizing their reforged relationship. He must've approached Castle – what a scene that must've been. And how telling that her father went to Castle, not Josh. Smart man, her dad, even if she didn't recognize it at the time.

" _Thank you_ ," she whispers. "Thank you for trying to protect me. For trying to protect my family."

Castle looks down, frustrated with himself for being so easily read by his partner. So much for demonstrating the Rodgers acting mettle. At least she doesn't seem upset, so he'll hope for the best for his partner and her father.

Beckett notices his look and suspects its cause. "It's okay, Castle. I'm glad it was dad. We'll be okay," she promises, thinking about her father but okay if he interprets her comment differently. When he simply nods in reply, she tries to divert him into happier territory.

"Second question," she prompts, letting him know they're moving on. "About the letters Gates had, the ones from people who want you…," she starts to introduce before Castle cuts her off.

"Those better not be the letters she has," he says with a little smile, still subdued but trying gamely to play his usual flirty role. "Those are for my private collection."

"Sorry," Beckett offers quickly with a blush. "The letters from the _law enforcement personnel_ who were interested in retaining your _professional consulting services_ ," she clarifies, pursing her mouth to avoid smiling at his dancing eyebrows.

"Oh," he replies easily, " _those_ letters. What about them?"

"How many?" she asks at first, the question leading rapidly to others. "From whom? For how long? Why didn't you…"

"Do you remember how I was when we first met?" he interrupts again, his demeanor grown serious again.

"You were…," Beckett trails off, struggling in vain to find an adjective that's true but doesn't spoil the fragile structure of forthright communication they've managed to construct tonight.

"An insufferable jackass," he supplies helpfully. "You don't need to spare my feelings, Kate. I was lost in the fog, awaiting the arrival of my beacon."

Beckett blushes again and lowers her head. How she wishes she could see herself as heroically as he sees her.

"Did you ever wonder how I fell so far?" he asks, then huffs a laugh at her panicked look. "Don't worry, it was a rhetorical question. It's easy to fall, easy to revel in yourself, when surrounded by people who indulge you. When all you get is careful flattery motivated by the illusory hope of a feeble glimmer of reflected glory."

Beckett wonders if he can hear the disdain in his voice, the vein of self-loathing that's surfaced on this strange, wonderful evening.

"That's all those letters are," he ventures with a shrug. "A one-way ticket back to a place where people kiss my ass and offer fakes smiles and fake friendships. That's why I ignore them. I'm not going back to that life," he says resolutely. "I _won't_ go back."

" _That's why_ you do it," she hears herself say, mouth lagging her racing brain. "' _They tolerate me_ ,' you said. That's why you put up with women like Dixon. Why you ignore Espo's shots. That's why…," she almost moans, "that's why you don't leave, no matter how poorly I treat you."

How terrifying, she thinks as she lowers her head, that he's only stayed because the precinct is such a harsh place for him, that he's only here because he's so sure that no one will treat him well. It puts the last several years in bleak context, makes her realize…

"Hey," he says quietly, recapturing her attention with a gentle hand that covers hers. "Come back, partner," he pleads, trying to get her to look at him, "you're barreling down the wrong track. You know me, Kate. I'm not a gloomy person and I don't look for ways to punish myself – remember all your teasing about my comforts at the loft?" he tries to joke, in vain.

"I don't stay because this is some purgatory for me," he whispers urgently, leaning closer to her to emphasize his point. When she slowly lifts her eyes back to his, he squeezes her hand. "I stay," he confesses, "because I get a tiny glimpse of heaven every time I see you smile."

God dammit, she's crying, she realizes. For the second time, she's crying in front of her partner. She's made it years – _years!_ – without weeping in front of him, in front of anyone. And it all comes crashing down tonight. Even worse, she doesn't care. She was embarrassed when they were in the ring. But now? If she's not allowed to show some emotion after a comment like that, when can she? And it's not like hiding her emotions has done wonders for her and Castle.

"I'm glad you stay," she replies hoarsely. "I need you to stay. I want you to stay."

"Then I'll stay," he answers quickly, as if it's the easiest decision in the world. His quick support reminds her of his pivot in Burke's office. Following that line of thought reminds her of why they set up that session in the first place. Which leads to her next question.

"Are you going to keep training?" she asks, regretfully pulling her hand from beneath Castle's so she can use the napkin to dab at her cheeks.

"Of course," he answers more easily and quickly than she expected. Noting her knit brows, he provides a devastatingly simple explanation. "Your case is still open. I need to be able to help. Once that's done, we can rest," he promises with a voice gone wistful. "We can buy an island and lounge on the beach, living on the fruit in our rum drinks."

Even though she's worried for his safety, she can't help but smile at the image he's created, the bright, warm future where he still sees them together. But carefully so, she notes. His vision of the future had them in the same place, together but not necessarily _together_. It's something she needs to address more directly than she dared on the swings, but there's clean-up to do before then.

"Part of me wants to beg you to stop," she admits, reaching for his hand. But instead of grasping it, she turns it palm up before quickly undoing the button on his cuff and pushing his shirt-sleeve up to reveal bruises and welts on his forearm. "I don't like you getting hurt."

"But the other part?" Castle prompts, staying away from the topic of injuries.

"The other part," she continues with a sigh, "the other part's a mess. That part is happy you're stronger. I'd like to say it's because it means you'll be safer in the field with me, and that's true. But I'm also going to need your help. I'm not used to relying on people," she admits. "But you've spoiled me."

"Good," he replies certainly. "Then I've done something right."

" _And_ …," she pauses, gathering strength for this last bit, "in the spirit of what we're sharing tonight, Rick, I'll also say this – your recently revealed prowess is pretty damned hot," she confesses with a blush, a light shrug, and a gently-bitten lip.

"You think I'll stop now?!" he chuckles in reply. " _Forget it_. I doubt there's a single thing you could've said to be more encouraging than that!"

Still blushing, Beckett tugs his sleeve back down. She's having trouble looking at him after her little confession, so she toys with the button on his cuff instead. "I'm kind of sad I missed the early months of your 'physical therapy,'" she muses quietly. "You know, the days when it would've been easy to chase you around the ring. If tonight was any indication," she admits, surprised at how much this realization stings, "those days are long gone. For me, at least."

"Training's gone well," Castle answers with unusual modesty. "But now my element of surprise is gone. So much for my thoughts about sandbagging Espo into some sparring. That could've been fun."

"You think you could take Espo?" Beckett asks in surprise, wondering how advanced her partner's training has been.

"Honestly?" Castle asks in an effort to get her to lift her eyes back to his. When she does, he looses a little smile. "Yeah. I can."

"Wow. I'd like to see that," she replies, smiling herself at the possibilities. "If you're going to keep training anyway, maybe we can figure out a way to set that up."

Castle's smile grows, but he holds his tongue. It's not her words that cheer him so much as the context – she's talking about working together and planning for something down the road.

"I'll split the winnings with you," he offers magnanimously, already anticipating the wagers that would fly around such a matchup.

"Which bet are you talking about?" Beckett asks again before blushing and returning her attention to his button, which she now pushes home. Her reaction makes it clear she's thinking about a different popular topic of betting in the precinct, one that involves the nature of her partnership with Castle.

"The one I thought I could talk about without making things awkward," he answers after a few long moments, finally opting for honesty.

Even though her work with the button is done, Beckett's hand lingers as she traces the rim of his cuff and tickles his wrist. "That brings us to my last question," she whispers. "Will you wait for me?"

Trying not to squirm under the attentions of her roaming fingers or his own roiling emotions, Castle takes a few moments to ensure he doesn't blow this opportunity he's sought for so long.

"I thought I was," he answers slowly. "If I waited when I thought you were getting ready to send me packing, I can wait when there's the promise of something more."

Dropping all pretense and finally interlacing her fingers with his, Beckett seems fascinated by the sight of their twined fingers. "I'm trying, Rick. I'm trying _so hard_. I know we're not there yet. I know I owe you answers to the questions you've been kind enough to set aside for tonight. I'll get there," she vows. "It might not've seemed like it tonight, but Burke's good. He's helping me."

"I liked him," Castle interjects, noticing his partner was running down and getting flustered. "We talked a bit after you left. Not about anything personal," he assures her quickly and getting a grateful nod in return. "He wanted me to suggest that we try a joint session again soon. After tonight," he says in a more playful tone, "I think our next session will be a little more textbook."

"Yeah," Beckett chuffs in reply, "we started to talk about some of the big stuff tonight," she agrees. She thinks about his comments for a few moments before squeezing his hand to catch his attention. "You'd be okay with that? With seeing Burke?"

"Kate," he offers with an indulgent smile, "I'd love to be able to help."

He doesn't say it, but Beckett's conscience appends ' _this time_ ' to his generous offer. It helps her realize that maybe she can handle her mental recovery differently than she addressed her physical recovery over the summer.

"Good," she offers contentedly. "And you'll stay at the precinct?"

"As long as you want or need me there," he offers with a nod. "I'll have to be careful, though, after kinda spilling the beans to Gates."

"' _I am compromised_ ,'" Beckett quotes, getting an embarrassed nod in return. "We'll be fine. I don't think she wants you to leave and we've got leverage even if she does. But for however impolitic your comment might've been," she continues, giving his hand another squeeze, "it still knocked me out of my seat. You declare yourself well, partner."

"Getting better," he offers, trying to stay away from his previous declaration and the memories of Montgomery's funeral.

"So am I," Beckett reminds them both, focusing on her effort in therapy rather than her shooting. "Who knows? Maybe the next declaration will come from me," she hints with a smile that turns into a yawn.

"Long day," Castle notes as Beckett releases her hold on his hand to cover her yawn.

"Long, terrifying, beautiful day," she agrees, cheeks flushed.

"I don't want it to end," he confesses as he pulls out his wallet and drops some cash on the table to cover their meal. "But I think waking up tomorrow will be easier. Brighter."

"Finally," she agrees, opening the surveillance case and quieting her cellphone before again entering the delete commands and shutting the case.

Castle comes around the table to help her rise, letting his eyes linger on her just as she allows her hand to linger in his. But then another yawn arrives, addressed to Castle this time. So, with light chuckles, they turn to depart. Knowing better than to suggest he carry the case, he instead offers an arm to start their courtly walk to Beckett's car.

"Will you come in tomorrow?" she asks shyly after depositing the case in her trunk and opening the door to her cruiser.

"I'm looking forward to it," he replies through his own blush. "I'll be a little late. I promised Alexis a fancy breakfast," he explains to Beckett's sweet smile. "Then we're off to the bank to get Mother a loan, but I'll be in before you know it."

"A loan?" Beckett asks, standing next to her open car door as she delays the end of their evening.

"For her acting studio," Castle nods. "She won't take my money or let me cosign. It's got to be _her_ loan," he laments, now even more upset about the time he'll spend away from the precinct in the morning.

"You know what a loan is, right, Castle?" she asks as she steps away from her car and toward him. "It's borrowing from the future – taking a little bit today to help insure a richer tomorrow," she explains as she walks into his personal space, not stopping until they're nearly pressed against each other. "I think I need a loan, too," she whispers as she leans up and places her lips lightly on his.

The kiss is light and fleeting, over before his mind fully recognizes what's going on. It differs from last year's undercover kiss in all ways save one – it leaves him just as devastated, dizzy, and panting. Looking at his partner, he's relieved to see the same feelings reflected back.

Before he can think better of it, he reaches out and pulls her into an engulfing hug. Still reeling from her own audacity, Beckett cuddles in, absorbing the warmth of his embrace.

Regardless of her efforts to stifle it, Castle can still feel Beckett's yawn. So, with a rueful chuckle, he bustles them back to the door of her car, finally releasing her so she can slide into the driver's seat. She fires up the engine and closes the door, but lowers the window for her farewell. "Thank you," she whispers, still flushed and smiling. "Thank you for tonight, Castle. I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

"Our new chapter," Castle recognizes with a smile to her ready nod. "A new start for us."

Smiling wide, Beckett forces herself to pull away from the curb, driving into the night feeling lighter and more optimistic than she enjoyed since she was a much younger woman. Finally, everything's going their way.

* * *

A/N: Merry Christmas! My apologies if the end to this story wasn't quite the present you had in mind, but it was time to draw it to a close. I might come back, though – I enjoy the notion of Cops & Robbers with Castle a bit more tuned up for the encounter. But there's a nefarious plan at work. Back when I started this story, I mentioned that I had three in mind for the time around Rise. The next one's outlined and while separate, it'll provide some tangencies with this story. So, Physical Therapy concludes now to set the stage for Under New Management, which is outlined but as yet unwritten. I'm hoping for some time over the holidays to dive in.

Thanks for indulging me in this story. It was meant as an opportunity to reflect on how Castle might've reacted when he found himself alone and out of the precinct following Montgomery's funeral and the terrible events that followed. But as the story progressed it provided some interesting opportunities to ponder Beckett's thoughts and the dynamics of their relationship, too. And, of course, it was fun to tease about who might be Castle's instructor or how Gates might react if she had engaged differently with Castle earlier in her tenure at the Twelfth.

Warm wishes to you and yours these holidays.


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